More Than One Side to a Story
by Amhran Comhrac
Summary: A collection of one-shots set in the Apostates of Amaranthine universe. Chapter 23: Anders and Oghren show Nathaniel the best way to deal with a hopeful recruit.
1. The Earring Stays

_I don't know how frequently I'll update this, but I figure if I do prompts on BSN or somewhere I'd like to have a place to post them. _

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**The Earring Stays**

"Come on, Anders, it barely hurts at all." The cute elven apprentice was holding an earring, an orange, and a shockingly large needle. In the other hand she had a rag. He couldn't help but notice the bloodstains already on it. "It'll look _fantastic _when it's done, see," she lifted up her hat with kitty ears, and really, where would she even get something like that in the tower? It wasn't exactly a standard issue mage cowl, displaying tiny red gems in each ear. "I just did mine and ran right up here after."

"Why is that one a hoop, though? It's it a bit… obvious? And my hair will catch on it."

"Your hair is too short to catch on it," she pointed out.

"It's going to grow back!" he said. "I only cut it to help disguise myself last time I got out."

"It's the only other earring I could find. Not like I can pop out to market, you know! I have to pick through whatever that fool Godwin has sent to him from his surface friend." She sighed. "Just start wearing a ponytail when your hair grows back or something. It'll look, I don't know, roguish."

"Roguish?" he said, sounding dubious. "I don't know if I can really pull off _roguish_. I go more for _dashing_, you know."

"Yes, and it works_ so well _for you. Quit complaining and sit still."

"It works just fine," he protested, but she only rolled her eyes. Anders sighed and did as she demanded. He had long since realized saying _'but it will _**_hurt_**' wouldn't do wonders for his image, and really, the fear of pain was the only concern. If the earring looked horrible, he knew he could just get rid of it.

"Ow!" Anders protested, squirming.

"Maker's breath, that wasn't even the needle. That was just a quick ice spell to numb your ear. Would you _calm down_! I'm not taking your head off here!" She sounded annoyed. He did as ordered and a moment later she did put the needle through his ear. And, as he suspected, it _did _hurt. Anders tried not to wince as she fiddled around, not really wanting to look and see his blood shooting all over the wall.

"There," she said finally. "I assume you can heal it yourself?"

Anders did just that before getting up and striding across the room to a mirror. He had to admit, it did look good. If he could figure out a way to enchant it, all the better. "Not bad," he said.

"Told you!" she replied, hopping off the bunk and laughing. "I've got to run, Niall promised to help me with entropy. Don't take it out for a while, the hole will close up!"

Anders, slightly entranced by the light flickering off the gold, barely heard her. "Huh? Oh, ok. Tell Niall I said hi."

"What is _that_?" his roommate said that evening. "You didn't get that on your last escape, did you?"

"No, just today," Anders said. "What do you think?"

"You look like a pirate," he replied. "No… you look like someone _pretending _to be a pirate. And failing. Did a girl talk you into that?"

"Yes, but not like that," Anders admitted. "It was the apprentice I tutor. I think she wanted to cheer me up."

He rolled his eyes before climbing into bed. "It looks absurd. You really ought to get rid of it, you shouldn't be doing anything to stand out more right now. They just let you out of solitary confinement."

Anders made a face, ignoring him. He was a grumpy bastard and bitter he hadn't been moved upstairs to the Enchanter quarters yet.

The next day several people commented on the earring, none favorably. Anders was walking back to his room from the library, sick of pirate jokes and seriously considering just getting rid of it, when he saw an apprentice walking up the hall. The knight-commander was in the middle of giving her one of his lectures. He _did _recycle the same ones for everybody, apparently. "Behind the storeroom _again_, and this time with a mage no less? Rules exist for a reason." Anders stopped, suppressing the urge to laugh, and listened in.

"Yes, ser," she replied, twirling her black hair around a finger and sounding as though she didn't care one bit.

"The reason isn't so you can break them one by one."

"I know, ser," she said again in that same bored voice.

"Do you _enjoy _constantly having to help the tranquil clean?"

"Yes, ser," she responded, quite obviously ignoring him.

"Are you listening to me?"

"I know, ser" she said again, making a face at the Knight-Commander's back.

Snickering as they passed, Anders accidentally dropped one of his books trying to get a better look at her.

The girl froze in place, looking over at him while Greagoir, oblivious, continued down the hall. Finally able to see her clearly, Anders suddenly wished he hadn't gotten the earring. When her green eyes passed over it he resisted the desire to explain "it wasn't my idea!"

Then she grinned at him, earring obviously meeting her approval. It was… well, Anders wouldn't say it was a _beautiful _smile. _ Predatory _would probably be a much more accurate word. He recognized the look, more than a few women had been fixed in his own version of it over the years. Being on the receiving end was strangely flattering.  
Bending over, she grabbed his book, stepping far closer than necessary and placing it back on the pile in his hands. "Dropped that," she said, before winking and scurrying after the Knight-Commander.

_That's it_, Anders thought, shaking his head in amusement and continuing on his way. _The earring stays._

That was five years ago.

"Hey Biff," one of the templars said. "Get a load of his earring." He snickered, turning to Anders. "What, you thought you'd hop some pirate ship?"

Rolling his eyes, Anders turned over to his side in the small cell, facing the wall. Caught again, he wasn't going to make their lives any better by providing entertainment.

"Fine, ignore us," Biff laughed. "The less problems you cause the better. I don't want to hang around here long enough bump into that Grey Warden when she gets here." The two began talking about the woman in question, more commonly known as the Hero of Ferelden. With amusement Anders realized, as they said things like _violent_, _half-mad,_ and even _maleficar_, that the templars were scared witless of meeting her. No wonder, though. Grey Wardens were completely outside Chantry control. Everyone knew that. _ Lucky, _he thought as he dozed off, exhausted after days of running.

"Where did they come from," someone shouted, waking him. It might have been minutes, or even hours. Anders shifted and looked over. One of the templars was leaning against the door, face waxy with terror.

"What's going on," he asked, forgetting that he was giving them the silent treatment.

"Darkspawn! They're everywhere. I won't be able to hold the door much longer."

"Well open the bloody cell!" Anders said. The templar looked at him blankly. They really _were _slow. Anders sighed and directed a small blast of flame at the cell's stone wall in demonstration. "Did you think I spent years learning _basket weaving_ at the Circle?"

"Oh, right," he said. "Hey Biff, let the mage out!"

"You crazy?"

"You want the darkspawn to eat us? Maybe with him we've got a chance."

"Fine," he muttered, unlocking the cell nervously. "Don't try anything funny."

"I assure you, if I do it will be hysterical," Anders said, unable to help himself.

"Here they come!" came a shout. The men all tensed as the doorframe cracked under pressure, bursting open. The most disgusting beasts Anders had ever seen in his life poured in. He gagged, suppressing the urge to get sick all over the floor. People talk about darkspawn but you really couldn't understand until you saw them yourself. After a moment's hesitation he began to cast spells, picking them off one by one.

When the last fell Anders shook his hands, dissipating the last of the flame spell, and realized that he was the only one left standing. _Oh, this doesn't look good_, he thought. Before he could run someone kicked the door open behind him.

Skidding to a halt in front of him was a familiar figure. Black hair, grass-green eyes, the same predatory grin, this time filled with the lust for battle.

_That's_ the Hero of Ferelden? He was tempted to laugh. Instead he reached up and smoothed his hair, noticing that once again her eyes flicked over the earring. Anders grinned right back at her. "Hey, I remember you from the Circle!"

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_Editing isn't up to snuff, admittedly, but this was for a one-hour challenge. Not sure if all of these will be Amell/Anders, or if I'll get the urge to write about someone else. But after the prompt I kind of liked the idea of showing a few moments from a different perspective._


	2. Worst Capture Ever

_This was done for a one-hour story prompt on BSN. The prompt was: "Customer Satisfaction. Just how does Anders go about rating the Templars who keep bringing him back?"  
Since it's a one-hour story editing may not be up to my normal standards. Feels like cheating to go back and fix it now, though. ;)_

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**Worst Capture Ever**

Really, if given a choice Anders would have preferred Ser Rylock. Sure, she had a voice that could shatter glass at a hundred yards when angry, and yes, she was pretty much _always_ angry, but it would still be an improvement over the current situation.

Anders couldn't deny that her abrasive personality these days was almost entirely his own fault, though. He had to admit that she had once been perfectly nice, even friendly. Rare qualities in a Templar. Her crush on him wasn't much of a secret, either. Not many Templars blush and stammer when they slap the manacles on an apostate, or respond to his mindless flirtation with girlish giggles. Even if Anders wasn't very good at determining when someone was attracted to him, and he was, it would have been obvious.

Taking advantage of that in the hopes of winning the woman's trust and convincing her to let him go was, in retrospect, not the most well thought out plan. If he had more time to think about it he would have used the distraction and cast a sleep spell, a force field, paralysis… anything, just to buy himself a little time to get away. Desperation leads to bad decisions, though.

She hadn't gone for it, of course. He should have known better. That she seemed to hope his… _performance_ would repeat itself on a later escape attempt didn't exactly thrill him, either. She wasn't hideous or anything, but really, a _templar?_ Anders had his standards, and they did not normally stretch to encompass his jailers. When it became very clear that he had no interest in reliving that incident she became, well, mean. He couldn't blame her, really. Rejection is never fun. Neither were the silent glares occasionally punctured by screams calling him a criminal that replaced her giggling and blushing, though.

But… compared to the present situation, it would still be an improvement. Glancing over at the templar currently on watch, giving him the evil eye across the fire, Anders made a face.

Last night he was so upset at being caught- _again- _that he simply couldn't sleep. He finally managed hours after everyone else. When he woke later than them as a result their reaction was to kick him in the head. Really, what kind of person _does_ that? Maker's breath, those boots were _metal_. They also seemed to find it amusing to dispel his attempts to heal the injury. Anders had been forced to stumble through the day feeling lightheaded and nauseous. So yes, Ser Rylock screaming would be vastly preferable to these templar's "good morning" of an armored boot to the skull.

Sadly, it wasn't even the worst treatment he'd faced on his numerous escapes. On his fourth trip out, or perhaps it was the fifth, they leveled a smite, marched him until he passed out, and then took turns kicking him in the ribs when he didn't get up. After regaining consciousness Anders had almost enjoyed explaining that no, he could not get up and walk since he could not heal himself. Almost. The fact that he was coughing up blood at the time really prevented him from getting any actual enjoyment out of the situation.

Gingerly curling up on the single blanket they'd provided him, having trouble finding a comfortable position with his hands bound, Anders vaguely wondered what they would do to him this time. Last time he got solitary confinement for a year. He tried to make the best of it. First he went through every song he knew, remembering which ones seemed to particularly annoy the guards so they could be repeated more frequently. He talked to the tower cats, wishing they could answer. He even entertained himself by taunting the celibate guards. Graphically detailing stories of his more explicit exploits with the fairer sex was always fun, especially if he made sound effects. Providing very specific instructions on how to make a woman very, very happy, with hand gestures, often caused them to blush and choke. Their embarrassment was always good for a laugh. The coughing noises they made were sometimes the only sounds he heard besides his own voice.

But really, even with all that, going a year without having an actual conversation with a another person was enough to drive anyone mad. Anders didn't know if he could do it again and come out sane at the end. Sometimes he suspected that the grip he had on his sanity after the first year was a fairly near thing.

Of course, that was assuming they wouldn't simply execute him. While Anders wasn't a blood mage, and they damn well knew it, he might simply have used up all his luck. Nothing he could do but wait and see, though.

"Hey mage, wake up!" Anders struggled to open his eyes, making a sharp noise of pain after he felt a boot connect with his head. Lovely, apparently this would be the daily pattern. Yes, Ser Rylock's screaming was looking better by the second. He would say this was quite easily the second worst capture to date, immediately after the blood-coughing incident. As they screamed at him throughout the day for walking too slowly, occasionally punctuating their complaints with a punch to his kidneys or back of his head, he quickly reevaluated that. This was the _worst_ capture ever.

The most frustrating part was that they hadn't even been hunting him! He just had the _fantastic_ luck to wander into the same tavern at lunchtime. Humiliating, really.

Stopping briefly to vomit on the side of the road Anders winced. He quite clearly had a concussion, and perhaps even a cracked skull at this point. If it wasn't healed soon, well, the result would be bad. He pointed this out to the Templars, commenting that someone at the Circle would certainly notice if he returned unable to remember his own name. "Fine," one said, drawing his sword. "Cast the spell." With a roll of his eyes Anders did just that, feeling better moments later. He pretended not to notice that every one of the Templars had their weapons trained on him just in case he had the bright idea of attacking a group of large armed men who could counter anything he threw at them.

"I'm bloody sick of this rain," one whined.

"You're sick of it?" came the reply. "I had to spend two hours in it watching the mage last night." Anders was tempted to point out that he was the one who had to spend the whole night _sleeping_ in the rain, but resisted the urge.

"Well, Vigil's Keep's just a couple miles up. We can stay there, the Arl will put us up for the night. Stick his ass in the dungeon."

"There is no Arl," another said. "Arlessa. We got a notice. It's a mage, that Grey Warden person. Don't think she's there yet, though."

"Maker's breath, that's bloody horrifying, putting someone like that in charge. A _mage_." Anders made a face hearing the disgust that was loaded into the word. He should be used to it by now, but it didn't seem to get any easier whenever he was confronted with how much people like him were loathed.

"Aye. Knight-Commander says to leave her alone, too. Something about some treaty."

"Well, we'll just leave early, before she gets there. _Someone_ there will put us up. Damn sick of this rain."

As a kick to his backside, apparently punishment for eavesdropping, sent him sprawling face-first in the mud, Anders determined this was absolutely, by far, the worst group of templars to ever bring him in.


	3. Turncoat

_A/N: Another BSN one-hour prompt. This week the theme was "Anders' Irving Hatred." _

**Turncoat**

"So why _do_ you hate Irving so much?"

Anders looked over, rolling his eyes. Did she really _need_ to ask? But no, Maggie was staring at him with an expression of curiosity on her face. "You're serious?"

A sigh. "No, Anders. I'm asking since I adore the sound of my own voice. Next I'll sing!" She took a sip of her wine and grinned at him, leaning back on her elbows by the fire. "Don't make that face at me. I'm not nearly drunk enough to subject you to my singing. Come on, I wouldn't ask if I wasn't curious! Tell me."

"I just can't believe I even have to explain it to you. Why don't _you_ hate him? That seems like a better question."

"He's nice," Maggie said simply.

Anders groaned. She _wasn't_ stupid. Far from it, most of the time. Nathaniel was right, though. For someone that killed things almost every day, and had for years, she was far too naïve. "Mags, you'll need to elaborate more than that."

"I don't know," she said, waving a hand and spilling wine on the carpet. "Oh, damn." He suppressed a groan as she wiped it up with the sleeves of her robe. "There. Fixed. So… Irving?" Anders nodded. Maybe this conversation should have waited for when they weren't three bottles of wine into the evening. "He was nice to me."

"Of course he was. You were his little primal-magic star. Do you know how many of his classes I sat in where he said 'oh, well, the girl I mentor could do this in her seventh year'? I didn't even know your name and wanted to punch you!"

"Well, thank you, darling," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Good to know!"

"I don't _now_," Anders laughed. "I probably wouldn't have then if I knew _who _he was talking about. I'll forgive a lot for a pretty face."

She giggled at that before going on. "If Irving caught me out after lights-out or with some guy or stealing something he'd let me get away with it unless a templar saw, too."

"Ah-ha!" Anders said, pouncing on the last words. And speaking of, he heard a hissing noise and looked over just in time to see Ser Pounce leaping from one of the bedposts onto the back of Maggie's mabari, Isolde.

"Ah-ha?" she repeated before turning to look at the commotion. "Hey! Leave my dog alone!"

"He won't listen to you," Anders said. He snapped his fingers and the cat jumped down, walking over and curling up on his lap. "He only listens to me."

"I know that," she said. "He shredded one of my shirts the other day."

"That shirt was _disgusting_. It was covered in blood stains and holes."

"I wear it under my armor, what should it look like? Anyways, what's 'ah-ha!'"

"The… thing you said," Anders replied, glancing at his own glass and realizing half of it had been spilled onto the cat. No wonder there were claws digging into his legs. "Off, cat!" After refilling his drink he went on. "_Unless a templar saw, too_." That thing."

"Yeah? What about it?"

"He's _one of us_. He should be _on our side._ But no, he bends for the templars every time."

"What choice does he have?"

"Doesn't make it right," Anders insisted. "And did you forget how he was going to make _your best friend_ tranquil on _one_ templar's word?"

"No," she sighed. "Did _you_ forget the part of the story where Jowan _was_ a blood mage, though?" Maggie refilled her drink and made a face. "Besides, it all worked out. He got out, I got out. And now Jowan's one of us! I couldn't be happier with the outcome, although I do wish people would stop naming their children after me. When his daughter starts walking around it's going to get awfully confusing. Confusing enough with Oghren's daughter always getting screamed at by Felsi." She looked into space blankly for a moment. "Anyways," Maggie went on, train of thought recovered. "Poor Lily got the shaft but I didn't really think she was good enough for him, anyways. So the Jowan thing, it ended all right."

"She wasn't good enough for the _blood mage_?"

Maggie stretched her leg, kicking him. "Hey! Did you forget that he's not the only blood mage around here? It's not like we're _monsters_."

Anders groaned. "No, I didn't forget. I do blame him, though. He's the one who taught you."

"It's kept your ass alive," she snapped, slamming her glass down. "More than once I might add!"

Anders shifted backwards, not wanting to get any further into this conversation. Again. Especially when her hands were pressed against the floor like that and a veritable ice skating rink was forming around her. "Look, let's drop the blood magic discussion. I don't want argue. We were talking about the Circle." He offered her an apologetic glance and, to his relief, she relaxed slightly. The 'blood magic is evil/blood magic saves our lives' fight was bad enough when they were both sober. When drunk… it would probably put the structural integrity of the Keep's east wing to the test.

"I hate when you do that," Maggie said finally. "Like deep down you think I'm some kind of monster. Three years together and you still get hung up on the blood magic thing."

"I know," he sighed. "I'm sorry. But… well, think of Irving," he said, hoping to change the subject before they started fighting again. "See, I don't like blood magic, but I can look past it since I know _you're_ not a bad person, and you don't have bad intentions. He wouldn't. He'd just say 'the Chantry forbids blood magic' and that would be it. Off with your head. He can't think for himself."

Maggie nodded. "He would," she admitted. "But like I said. What choice does he have? We're free, but he's not. He's just as stuck under the Chantry's thumb as every other mage in the Circle."

"I don't bloody care!" Anders exclaimed. "It's disgusting. He's supposed to advocate for us. He's supposed to guide us. Irving's a mage and he practically _works_ for the templars. He takes their word over any mage, he does whatever they say."

She sighed. "I just don't see what option he has."

"There's _always_ an option," Anders insisted. "Rebellion is an option. Refusal is an option. Putting your damn foot down once in a while is an option. He doesn't do anything to make our lives better, he never has. He just works to keep us all in our place!" He put his hands to his forehead, pushing his hair back with a groan of frustration.

"He is a thousand times worse than the Templars," Anders finally said. "They have their job to do. I _hate_ their job, but I understand. That's why they exist and we're just on different sides of the fight. He shouldn't be on their side, though. Not when he's a mage. Everything he does is just to keep that whole disgusting system running smoothly. He's never even tried to make life better for the mages. Irving tells us to accept our lot in life and stop fighting to get out of our cage." He looked over, Maggie was watching him and listening. Anders finally managed to come up with something she wouldn't dismiss as 'what choice is there.' "Look, what would you do if Bann Ceorlic's father walked in right now?"

"Cut his damn traitor head off," she replied promptly. "He turned Queen Moira over to the Orlesians, what do you think I'd do? What does that have to do with anything?"

"_Exactly"_ Anders said. "Well, that's Irving for you. He's a mage working to keep us all in chains, just like the Ferelden nobles who worked for Orlais. The were a thousand times worse than the Orlesians since they turned on their own people. That's Irving. He's turned on mages to work for the Chantry and the Circle. _That's_ why I hate him."

"All right," Maggie said after a moment. "I can understand your point."

"Thank you," Anders said, glad he was able to explain it.

"And it doesn't have _anything_ to do with the time he caught you with a girl and said '_Another one_, Anders? This is the fourth time this week!,' and she got so mad that she told everyone who would listen that you were a cad and a lecher?"

He colored slightly. "No!" Anders insisted.

"And it doesn't have anything to do with the fact that no girl would give you the time of day for months after?"

"Not at all."

She laughed. "Funny, since that's not what I heard you telling Oghren."

"I hate you," he muttered.

"Oh, you do not," she giggled, crawling over to where he sat on the floor and kissing him on the cheek.

"All right," he said, grinning despite himself. "I don't."


	4. Worst Idea Ever

_This was written for the BSN, inspired by the number 100._

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**Worst Idea Ever**

"What happened?" Anders asked, groaning as he sat up.

"Help," was all Maggie said in reply.

Hearing that, he jumped to his feet, swaying as the force of his hangover hit him. Clearing it with a spell Anders looked around the room.

The Warden Commander of Ferelden was currently in her smallclothes, stuck on a shelf near the very high ceiling. "How did you get up there?" he asked, trying not to laugh and failing miserably.

"I don't know!" she replied, swinging down so she was dangling by her hands, legs kicking several feet above the ground. "I can't even reach to get down. Stop laughing! Help me!"

"I don't know…" Anders said. "I'm kind of enjoying watching you kick your legs like that. You know you're practically naked."

"You don't say," she replied. It was impressive, even looking at her backside he could _hear_ her roll her eyes. "Well, my hands are going numb so I'm coming down one way or another. You can help me or heal my ankles when they break after I fall."

Still laughing Anders walked over and grabbed Maggie by the hips, setting her on the ground. "You know I won't let you fall," he said.

"It was a near thing!" she said. "Maker's breath, it feels like the whole damn smith caste is working away inside my _skull_." He cast another healing spell and she sighed, leaning against the wall. "You, my love, are _fantastic. _Now I just need to figure out where my clothes are."

"Why rush?" Anders said, putting a hand on either side of her against the wall.

"Well, I'm kind of wondering why we're in the basement," she began. "And… oh…." Anders was, if anything, _very good_ with his hands. "Well…" she mumbled, leaning against the wall. "I'm already half naked."

"My point exactly," he said, pulling his robes up as she hopped up, wrapping her legs around him with a giggle. Anders managed to hold out just long enough for her to finish, shrieking his name as her nails dug into his back. Not long after, he cried out, sinking to the floor on unsteady legs, taking Maggie with him.

"Merrfmf," she said into his neck.

"What?" Anders asked.

"I said _Good Morning_."

"It is, isn't it?" he answered. "Although there still is the question of why we're in the basement."

"And where my clothes are," she added.

"I'm far less concerned about that," he laughed.

Once they both managed to catch their breath Maggie climbed to her feet and began hunting the small room for her robes. Or armor. In truth, Anders couldn't remember what she had been wearing.

"Found them!" she called out, pulling her robes on.

"What a shame," he laughed. They opened the door to see Jowan leaning against a wall.

"Do you know how we ended up down here?" he asked.

"No," Maggie said.

"So… your first response to waking up in the basement, and not knowing how you got there, was to have _very loud_ sex?" He shook his head, laughing. "It is good to know you haven't changed since we were apprentices."

"It was his idea," Maggie said.

"Oh… don't you go blaming me. You were the one without your clothes on. How would you expect me to respond?"

"Well, in either case, that was the only way I managed to find anyone. So I suppose it's just as well."

The three of them set out for the stairs. "Oooh, voices!" Anders said, running ahead. Opening a door they saw several wardens in various states of hangover.

"Can someone tell me _how_ I got up here?" one called from the top of a shelf.

"No idea, Tobias" Maggie said to the elf who was currently attempting to climb down. "If it makes you feel better I found myself in similar circumstances. I don't even know how we ended up in the basements."

"Good to see you set about discovering why first thing," he said, laughing. "Seriously, there's things I don't need to hear. My boss shouting… that sort of thing, it's very high on the list."

"Let's just get out of here," Jowan said. "I don't have good luck with basements."

"You don't have good luck with _anything_," Anders told him. Jowan responded by hitting Anders with a bolt of lightning, a gesture that the other mage quickly returned.

They resumed the walk upstairs, stopping to collect more people along the way. Two Wardens had somehow managed to get themselves locked into a cage, a relic of the Howe days.

"This isn't what it looks like," Roland said, blushing a furious red. The woman next to him just put her face in her hands and groaned.

"Really?" Anders replied. He and Maggie exchanged a glance and snickered. "Since it looks like you're locked in a cage."

"Without your clothes," Maggie added.

"Can you just let us out? Please?" Rose said, blushing.

"Aren't you an expert lockpick?" Anders asked as he fumbled with the cage's emergency release.

"Shut up," the elven woman replied. "I don't even know how we got here. I don't know where my lockpicks are. And I'm cold."

Once free, they quickly pulled their clothing back on and joined the group. "This is bizarre," Maggie said. "How did we _all_ black out?"

"I have no idea," Anders said. "No one seems _hurt_ though. Just very, very hungover. Like… a level six Oghren Hangover."

"Maker's breath," Maggie muttered. "The last thing I remember was the Joining last night." As soon as the words were out her face paled and, with a stream of curses that would make most sailors blush, she began tearing through the basement at top speed, Anders on her heels. "Damn damn damn," she shouted. "The new recruits!" Taking the stairs two at a time they quickly realized they weren't in the south basement. They were in the south sub-subbasement.

"Can we get a lift?" Anders complained on the third flight of narrow rickety stairs. "Like the one in Orzammar."

"No," Maggie shouted over her shoulder. "We'd have to tear out half the library."

"No one ever reads but us, anyways."

"No!"

He made a face at her back as they finally made it to the main floor. Walking down the hall they saw Nathaniel stumble out of the kitchen, feet bare. "Um… has anyone seen my boots?" he asked. "I woke up in the cold storage room without them."

"Sorry," Maggie said. "Be glad you have your clothes, though."

Anders laughed as Nathaniel stared at her, shaking his head with confusion. "You're… you're not normal. I hope you know this."

"Says the man who woke up next to a frozen side of beef?" Anders said.

"Actually, it was a wheel of cheese. The one we keep for when Alistair visits. Someone… maybe me, took several bites of it, though. I can't bloody remember and my head is killing me."

Anders quickly healed his hangover. "So… what can you remember? Our memories seem to stop somewhere around the Joining."

Nathaniel groaned. "Um. I know… it was a good one. I think four survived?"

"Ohhhhh," Maggie said. "Well. That may explain it."

"What?" both men said, turning to her.

"If four survived? How many Wardens does that give us?"

Nathaniel began tallying up. "Well, if we include the Denerim compound, and the outpost with the Dalish near Ostagar…"

"And the Peak," Anders added. "And the western compound in Redcliffe."

"Ohhhh," they both said at once. "Well, that does explain things."

Sigrun stumbled out of the training room as they continued on. "I don't _know_ how I ended up locked in with the mage practice weapons and I don't _care_," she said, shaking her head in horror.

Walking into the main hall they were greeted with the sight of the four new recruits, in various stages of undress, passed out on the floor, multiple empty bottles and scattered playing cards near them. Several of the large blue griffon banners were hanging from the ceiling in tatters. Two others were being worn as makeshift togas by a pair of rogues who were currently propped against each other, drooling and snoring in the corner. The casteless brand and dalish blood writing made them a strangely matched pair. One Warden, a young man who was thrilled to take the early death of Grey Warden-hood over the celibacy and lyrium-induced madness of the Templars, was currently wearing a cowl and mage's robes. _Women's_ mage's robes. The normal wearer of said robes was passed out, sitting on his lap, wearing what appeared to be a towel. Another ten or fifteen Wardens were slowly waking up throughout the room.

The phrase 'Grey Wardins Ruil!' had been painted on the wall. "Clearly someone needs to be in my basic reading class," Anders said, viewing it.

"Well, isn't this a sight," called someone. They turned to see Oghren, looking… well, exactly like he always looked, a mug of ale in his hand.

"What _happened_?" Anders asked.

"Same thing that happens every time you folks try to keep up with old Oghren," he laughed.

Hanging on the wall behind him was a banner. It read '100 Wardens Strong!' in a cheery script.

"This was my worst idea _ever_," Maggie said, apparently remembering how the drinking began. "Worst _ever_."


	5. The First Time

_This was done for the prompt "The First..." on BSN. _

_I have a new chapter of Apostates and Blue Skies almost entirely done. Unfortunately they're both on my laptop which went crazy on me today and will be in the shop until Monday. So no updates on those until then unless I feel really ambitious and start one of them over from scratch._

* * *

**The First Time**

Maggie stretched her legs out by the fire and laughed. "The first time? Oh Maker, that's going back a few years-"

"A _few,_" Oghren said, laughing. "Who do you think you're kidding."

"All right," she admitted. "Probably more than a few. I sometimes forget I'm not as young as I once was." She laughed. "It was in the tower-"

"Obviously," Anders said.

"Well, _sorry_," she said. "I figured I'd clarify."

"Well it certainly wasn't _before_ you got there," he laughed. "And if it was after you got out I'd eat my hat."

"You don't have a hat, Anders," she pointed out. If there was one thing Anders hated it was covering his hair with a cowl.

"Well, I'll _get_ a hat and _then_ I'll eat it!"

"Yeah, yeah," she said. He laughed and tickled her side.

"Come on, Sparklefingers," Oghren complained. "We were going to get a story. Don't go getting her all distracted. I don't want to listen to the two of you all night long. _Again_."

"What, jealous?" Anders asked, smirking.

"Clearly he is," Sigrun answered for him, laughing. "Now tell the story!"

"Well, all right, like I _said_, it was in the tower. On the... um... sixth floor. East storeroom."

Anders looked surprised. "Isn't that the one right by the templar quarters?"

"It is," she agreed.

"Wild woman," he laughed.

"Oh, you know the risk of being caught is half the fun at that age," she said casually.

"Yes!" Sigrun exclaimed. "The thrill of rebellion! Exactly!" She jumped up and ran around the fire, clicking her glass to Maggie's before returning to her seat. She was, clearly, quite drunk.

"What age was that?" Oghren said.

"Hm... best guess? Three and ten. Maybe four and ten. Something like that."

"That young?" Anders sounded impressed.

"I was younger," Sigrun supplied. "But then, I also grew up in Dust Town, so don't judge normal by me."

"I was _very_ mature for my age."

Anders rolled his eyes. "Yeah? What happened since!"

She flipped him off and laughed. "So anyways. East storeroom, with Jowan."

"That twitchy kid?" Oghren said, surprised.

"Why am I not shocked," Anders said. "I always assumed it would have been Jowan."

"Well, he was my best friend," Maggie said. "Of course we were interrupted by a Templar, got dragged through the whole upper half of the tower and dumped in front of the First Enchanter for a long lecture. Very embarrassing, especially since the Templar yelled at us both the entire time, loud enough for everyone with ears to hear."

Anders chuckled. "Is it my turn?" he said. When no one objected he took another sip of ale and began telling the story. "Also the tower, obviously," he said. "Fourth floor, behind the bookshelves in the south library."

"Oh, I've been back there," Maggie said.

"I'm sure you have," Anders replied. "I myself revisited the area many times after." He looked thoughtful. "I believe I was five and ten."

"Who were you with?" Maggie asked.

"You know, I _honestly_ can't remember!" Anders shook his head. "Don't think I haven't tried, either. I think I can recall a blonde, but nothing much more specific than that. It was bloody awful, anyways."

"I think the first time always is," Maggie said.

"Well I didn't know that," Anders said. "I thought something was wrong with me."

"Me too," she admitted. "Or I did something wrong."

"How would you manage to do something _wrong_?" Anders said. "It isn't _difficult_."

"Hey, I was a kid, what did I know?"

"Maker's breath," he muttered.

"Oh, stop it," she said. "I wasn't _that _young. And it's not like you have grounds to say a thing. I can't believe you don't remember who you were with."

He shrugged. "I think I blacked it out. But you know how it is. One time blends into another, and then you just can't tell them all apart."

"Really?" Maggie said, surprised. "Not for me."

"Well, not _with_ you, either" he insisted. "But you're endlessly entertaining. How could I forget any of the crazy things you do. Like the time you set the rug on fire?"

"Is _that_ how that happened?" Sigrun mused. "I wondered."

"That was _you_," she said, pointing. "Don't blame me."

"No, I'm pretty sure it was you," he said. "Anyways, it's someone else's turn."

"I was ten," Sigrun said. Everyone gasped. "Dust Town, remember?" she said. "Anyways, my mom had gone out for the day so I invited the boy next door over. He was a couple years older than me. Beautiful blue eyes."

"Ten and it was _your_ idea?" Maggie said, shocked. "I'm impressed!"

"Only you would be impressed by something like that," Oghren laughed.

"No, I'm pretty impressed, too," Anders said.

"Well, when it comes to this sort of thing you two are practically the same person. Matching Sparklefingers. _Just_ what we needed around here." He rolled his eyes.

Sigrun giggled. "I was what you might call a precocious child. Or a delinquent. Seeing how I ended up in the Legion of the Dead it would probably be the second one."

"Well, Oghren?" Anders said. "Come on now, from you I expect something good."

He laughed, his beard twitching. "I was fifteen," Oghren began. "My folks went to watch a Proving but I'd been grounded for something or another. We had this girl working for us, servant caste. She was really something." He whistled, grinning at the memory. "Well, it didn't take ten minutes from my folks leaving before I got the key to the liquor cabinet off her. She was, oh, twenty five." He chuckled. "You know me, though. Pure charm."

"She was a decade older than you?" Anders said.

"That's the way to do it," Oghren said. "Better if you're with someone experienced the first time. It can be a real mess if you're both clueless."

"That is true," Maggie agreed.

"Maybe that's why I blocked it out," Anders said.

"See?" Oghren said. "Anyways, by the time my folks get home I'd managed to break into the kitchen. They found me with my trousers on my head waltzing with a nug."

Everyone burst out laughing.

Nathaniel, who everyone assumed to be napping, stumbled out of his tent. "All right," he said. "Please tell me I did not just hear Oghren say he lost his virginity to a _nug_."

"What?" Oghren laughed. "I said I was waltzing with a nug! Literally, trying to waltz. Don't know why, damn things may be tasty but dancers they ain't."

"Wait," Anders said. "What did you think we were talking about?"

Nathaniel looked perplexed. "I heard you say you were talking about your first times."

"Our first times _getting drunk_," Maggie giggled.

"You have a very dirty mind," Anders said.

"You really do," she added. "Not _everything_ has to be about sex."

"Now that you mention it, though," Anders said, "we should tell that story next. Pull up a seat and join us. Maggie, you might as well go first since I'm already imaging you teenaged and naked. Please be as graphic and detailed as possible. Feel free to make sound effects." He put his elbows on his knees, resting his chin on linked fingers, watching her with a grin.

"You are all horrid people," Nathaniel said. "Now will someone _please _hand me a drink if I'm expected to participate in this discussion?"


	6. The first

_This is another one done for the prompt "The First..." on BSN. I wanted to try and do a more serious take on it. Also, typing on a full size keyboard when you're used to a laptop? Really hard to get used to!_

_The ending of this would coincide with chapter 36 of AOA, if you're curious. This is also one of the first things I've written that has next to no long conversations, and very minimal dialogue in general, so I'm a bit curious as to if it works or not.  
_

* * *

Anders could remember the first time he cast a spell. He had been five, maybe even six, in the small kitchen of the home he shared with his mother in Gwaren. This was before she married his stepfather and they moved across town to a larger house. He was sitting at the table, playing with a salt shaker and a small peppermill. The salt was King Maric, the peppermill Teyrn Loghain. They were just about to attack the Chevaliers, cleverly disguised as a loaf of brown bread, when his mother shrieked.

He looked up, she was standing on a chair, her face a mask of horror. "No, sweetheart, stay back!" she shouted. "Don't let it bite you, you'll get sick." He looked in the direction of her pointing and saw a large rat, sniffing around the baseboards. Seeing his mother so worried something twisted in his gut. His friend's mothers didn't have to worry about rats in their kitchen. They didn't have to take in washing or stay up late, mending clothes by the light of those smelly tallow candles. They had fathers to help, but his mother had only him. She had only him, and what good was he if he couldn't even take care of a stupid rat?

It felt like something deep in his mind exploded, for just a moment. Looking around in confusion Anders saw the rat, or what had once been the rat, smoldering on the floor, a hole burnt into its side. Lightning had come from nowhere and struck it down. Well, not from nowhere. It had, somehow, come from him.

"Oh," he gasped, looking at his hands and too shocked to say much else. Before he realized what was happening his mother had jumped down, pulling him close to her. She was crying. "I'm sorry," Anders insisted. "I didn't mean to!"

"It's all right," she said after a moment, brushing his hair back from his face. "It wasn't your fault, sweetheart." She held him out by the shoulders, her face serious. "Anders, you have to promise me you'll _never_ do that again. Never ever. Do you understand?"

"Yes, mama," he said. He hadn't liked it, anyways. It was scary, and made his mother cry.

"Promise me," she said. "If anyone ever catches you doing that they'll take you away, just like they did with Niall from down the street. You'll go to live in a tower far away and you'll never see me again. So you have to promise."

"I promise," he said. Looking back years later, Anders couldn't help but be amazed at how much willpower he must have had as a child to keep that promise as long as he did.

He could remember the first girl he kissed. Well, the first he kissed who _wanted _him to kiss her. There had been that brief phase when he was four, after all. The afternoon had begun with her being the first girl to hold hands with him since he had gotten old enough to realize just how much he actually wanted to hold hands with girls, and just how scary that prospect was.

They walked outside the village, talking about the harvest dance that was coming up, and about their families. Stopping near a statue at the edge of the woods, commemorating some battle or another, Anders looked over at her. She had red hair and green eyes, with a bold splash of freckles across her nose. Feeling like his heart was going to explode right out of his chest, he agonized if he should or not. Even as he started to lean towards her, mimicking what he'd seen other people do, Anders was tempted to pull back and run into the woods to hide, terrified she'd hit him or, maybe even worse, laugh. She must have realized what he had in mind, though, since she smiled and closed her eyes.

Her lips tasted like strawberries.

The next week she told him she would be going to the harvest dance with someone else. Her father didn't approve of Anders. He had been heartbroken but didn't say anything. His rival actually stopped him the next day as he ran errands for his stepfather's shop. Gloating, he made a crack about how no one would want to go anywhere with a bastard anyways. Anders responded the only way a reasonable twelve year old boy would: by punching him right in the nose. He swung back a moment later and Anders could hear a crunch, deep in his head, the taste of blood filling his mouth. Putting his hands to his nose he stumbled back. The other boy laughed. "Go home," he said. "Go home to your knife-eared whore of a mother."

Lightning arced through the air. He hadn't meant to. It just... happened.

Anders never did find out if the boy had lived. Truth be told, he didn't much care. He was more upset that the Templars wouldn't even let him go home to say goodbye before dragging him off. He wondered if anyone would tell his mother what happened. He was glad she had his stepfather to take care of her.

He didn't give the Templars the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

He remembered the first day in the tower. He scowled when the Templars cut his arm open, filling a glass vial with his blood. He scowled when a white haired woman healed his arm and escorted him to an office upstairs. He scowled when an even older man told him he was lucky, if he'd been any older... well, no, no reason to think about that now, just thank the Maker they found him when they did. He scowled as he was led back downstairs, past dozens of people of all different ages, all wearing obnoxiously colored dresses, and told one bunk in a room crowded with dozens would be his. He scowled when they made him put one of the absurd dresses on and took his normal clothes away.

Sitting silently on the bed, he scowled and watched people passing in the hall, wondering how he could sneak out. Several hours after his arrival he saw a boy and girl, both with jet black hair and neither a day over seven, run past the first door, shrieking with laughter. They were followed close behind by a Templar yelling at them to stop and obviously having trouble keeping up with the children in his heavy armor. As the pair passed the second door he saw the boy make a gesture with his hand, glowing slightly. "Faster, Jowan!" the girl said, pulling at her friend's sleeve. Or maybe it was her brother. They looked enough alike, and Anders had no idea if magic ran in families.

Anders wasn't entirely sure what they hoped to accomplish by running away when they lived in a closed tower, but he had to admire their creativity. "Take that, you bloody bastard," Anders heard the girl shout from down the hall. He had to shake his head, wondering what kind of place this was where children half his age ran around bellowing curses that would have gotten him a slap across the face at home. Seconds later the templar passed... or tried to. Whatever that gesture the boy made was, it had coated the floor in a layer of grease. Up the man in armor went... and down he came just as hard.

That was the first time Anders smiled since his arrival. "What are you grinning at," the man said through the bucket on his head as he struggled to his feet, falling several more times in the process.

"A man in a tin suit who was outsmarted by a couple of kids that probably can't even tie their own shoes yet," Anders replied promptly.

That was also the fist time Anders found out just how much the Templars hated having their armor referred to as a "tin suit." He made a point of using the expression whenever possible.

He remembered the first time he tried to escape. Someone had decided children needed fresh air and exercise to be healthy, and as such everyone over ten got to go outside once a week. Anders stood in line with the other apprentices on the first day he was allowed to join them, some months after his arrival, hoping no one noticed his boots were unlaced. Once outside, he stepped out of his boots, bolted to the shore, and began swimming for the other side.

It was a week later when he was returned to the Circle for the first time, kicking and screaming.

Although Anders would be hard pressed to even determine the number of women he had been with in his life, much less list them all, he could still distinctly remember the first time. He was fifteen and they made plans to meet in the library after lights out. He paced the floor, worried about being caught by a Templar, worried she wouldn't show up, worried he wouldn't know what to do if she did, and worried he'd be... horrible, in some way, and she'd say mean things about him to every other girl in the tower. The girls were, he had determined, the _only_ good thing about the damned place.

She rushed in, face flush from running. Anders kissed her, glad his skill had at least improved there in the last few years, and the two of them slipped behind one of the large bookshelves. "Are you sure?" he whispered.

She nodded. "I'm sure." Her hair was so pale it looked white in the moonlight and her eyes were the bright green of early spring grass. She was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. In five years she would walk into the Harrowing chamber and never return.

Fumbling with robes and numb-nervous hands, the two eventually figured out what went where. She winced with pain and Anders stopped. "It's fine," she said. "That's normal." Anders knew enough to realize it was, he was just surprised to find out she was as inexperienced as him. Fine or not, he didn't think she actually _wanted_ him to hurt her, and hey, there had to be _some_ advantage to this 'gift' that had ruined his life and made him a prisoner. He cast a quick healing spell and she kissed him again.

He thought it was the most amazing feeling in the world.

For the thirty seconds it lasted.

Thankfully that skill, too, improved over the years.

Anders could remember the first time he ever saw _her_, although at the time she was nothing more than some crazed apprentice getting yelled at by the Knight-Commander. He had to admire anyone gutsy enough to wink at one guy while being chewed out for getting caught with another, though, and she had lovely green eyes. Sharing the story with his roommate several days later, Anders was horrified to find out he had inadvertently managed to both proposition and stand up that strange apprentice all in one day. Apprentices were constantly creating intricate silent codes and signals to get each others attention, changing them as soon as the Templars caught on. He had no idea dropping a book by her feet was an invitation, no more than he realized her wink was the proper code to signal acceptance. _Well, there's another girl who will never speak to me again_, he thought ruefully. _Wish I'd known about the damned code days ago_.

He could remember the first time he felt true despair, overwhelming and bottomless. Escaping and making it as far as Gwaren, he stood in front of a boarded-up house where he had once lived with his mother and stepfather. Seeing a neighbor leaving he asked what happened to the people who once occupied it. "Plague," she said simply. "Maybe six months back. A real shame, they were good folk, Maker bless them." He had always harbored a deep hope that he would escape, go home, and pick up with the normal life he should have had. Breaking into the abandoned house, Anders curled up on the bed in the master bedroom and sobbed, surprised to find it still faintly carried the ghost of the perfume he remembered his mother wearing. When the Templars came he didn't even bother trying to hide, letting them lead him away. For the second time in his life he was escorted from Gwaren thinking about how he never had a chance to say goodbye.

He could remember the first time he realized they would actually never, ever let him out of the tower. Passed up for _another_ outside healer assignment, which instead went to someone with far less talent and one tenth the intelligence, he stormed into the First Enchanter's office. Although Irving danced around it, as he spoke Anders gradually realized his multiple escape attempts made him unfit for a job outside the circle. They assumed he would run away. They didn't realize that just being outside was all he wanted.

Anders could remember the first time he seriously wondered if the Circle had finally managed to break him. In his sixth month of solitary confinement the realization that he was only halfway through and already barely clinging to his own sanity hit him like a brick. It had been six months since he'd heard another person's voice. Six months since someone had smiled at him or so much as put a hand on his arm. He was so starved for contact he began begging the guards to say something, anything, just so he could hear another voice. As usual, they stood in silence, ignoring him.

He shuddered to look back and think about what he might have done if that cat hadn't wandered in and curled up on his lap while he sat in the corner of his cell, silently weeping.

Anders clearly remembered the first time he saw darkspawn. He was being brought back from what he suspected would probably be his final escape attempt. If he was given a year solitary confinement last time, odds were good they would wash their hands of him, declare him maleficar, and no longer have to worry about his escapes.

The creatures were so horrifying, so clearly _evil_, that when the strange green-eyed winking apprentice ran in, who wasn't actually an apprentice any longer and was, of all things, the bloody Warden Commander of Ferelden, he didn't even think to run. He just offered to help.

That day, it turned out, was also the first time he saw blood magic up close and in person, the first time he honestly questioned if it was really as evil as he had always believed, the first time he met a reigning monarch, the first time he saw a mage tell off a Templar and win, and the first time he wondered if he might actually be able to escape the Circle for good.

It wasn't until an hour later, as he held a far larger than necessary goblet containing what was probably the most disgusting concoction he'd ever smelled, that Anders wondered if the Circle might have been the smarter decision. He couldn't help but notice the look in the Grey Warden's eyes, though. Talking about her order's history and purpose, her eyes had the righteous gleam he'd only seen on a few of the Templars in the past, the ones most mages jokingly called "the true believers." It was the look of someone who had absolutely no doubts whatsoever of the rightness of their actions. Part of him pitied her, wondering just how brainwashed and mad she had become since leaving the Circle, but another part wondered if perhaps she was simply telling the truth. Not seeing much choice beyond going on the run yet again, knowing he would get caught yet again, Anders drank the poison.

He often wished he could forget the first time he saw visions of darkspawn in his own mind. But no, that was burned in. Hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands... all digging, digging, digging. Realizing what they were doing, what they were looking for and what would happen when they found it, he screamed.

His eyes opened and she was waiting with a hand to help him up.

She had been telling the truth.

When, several weeks later, they stood bloody and tired over the bodies of several Templars, Anders realized that, for the first time, he had found people who would fight for him, not against him.

He would never forget the first time he discovered what a distraction he could be to his commanding officer, who was quite clearly trying her very best to be both _mature_ and _responsible_ despite having only the most tenuous idea of what either of those things would entail. It was over a game of cards and several bottles of whiskey. Anders had to admit he spent the next several months doing everything he could to drive her mad, being thrilled by the knowledge that the greatest national hero in a generation had a crush on him.

The memory of how she looked when they were sitting on the floor an empty house where the group had made camp was stuck in his mind. After hunting down _some _of the nobles conspiring against her, he felt a pang of guilt when she looked at him with dark circles under her eyes and demanded "What do you _want_ from me, Anders?" He had been enjoying his game of 'make the boss blush' but never bothered noticing how tired she looked. How tired she _always_ looked, now that he thought about it. When they met she could have easily passed for a teenager. Today she looked as old as him, and he was feeling rather old at that moment, having just had a birthday the previous day. And then he reminded himself that she was the first person to actually remember his birthday in years, even though it had been mentioned just once in passing, months back.

Anders had figured he would flirt, see how long it took her to break down, and then they'd have some fun. He probably should have realized much sooner that she would _never_ break down since it was all tied into her idea of what she _should_ do and what was _expected_ and her well-concealed terror of doing something wrong. His entertainment was only adding to her already considerable stress. He felt, to be blunt, like an ass.

He planned to apologize. He was working out what he would say and looked over at her, trying to determine how he could explain that his systematic campaign of harassment was supposed to be all in good fun. Although he could never quite figure out how it happened no matter how many times he replayed the moment in his memory, a moment later she was in his arms and they kissed for the first time. She tasted like magic and, inexplicably, apples. As he wound his hands through her dark hair Anders realized his heart was pounding as much as it had been that afternoon by a statue on the edge of the forest, half a lifetime ago.

There are so few secrets among bands of adventurers. Things like privacy and modesty are quickly set aside when you risk death with the same people, day after day, living in nothing more than canvas tents. He couldn't forget the shock he felt when he saw the scars on her legs for the first time, just days after they had met, when the screams she made in her sleep woke the camp. He winced inwardly looking at them, but kept his face blank. After she returned to her tent, Anders wondered why the injuries had never been properly healed. He then shuddered when he realized that was probably how they looked after healing, or she would likely be dead.

That wasn't the last time he had glimpses, or even long looks, at parts of her body normally covered to all but the most intimate companions. An arrow wound high on her hip, a deep gouge on her breast, a magical burn on her backside from standing too close to an emissary, Anders treated them with the professional detachment he had learned over many years in the Circle. He was a grown man, after all, not some drooling teenage lecher, and a healer to boot. Gawking at his patients wouldn't make their recovery any easier.

And if memories of her cream-colored skin that was always so very, very warm or the pale pink of a nipple came to him unbidden, late at night, well, he could hardly be blamed for that. He was only human, after all.

What a shock it had been when the next morning when, after Anders had spent several hours sitting alone in the silent dining room preparing an apology that would encompass his original apology and a new section apologizing for kissing her, she walked in and quite _literally_ threw herself at him. He had to admit, it was the first time he woke up expecting to be slapped by someone and instead found himself being straddled by them. Not just straddled, either. While his mouth was all but glued to her throat, and he had no idea when or how he started doing that, she began _moving_ and _grinding_ and doing all manner of interesting things with her hips. He liked that particular memory, but only when it cut off before the other Wardens interrupted them.

He remembered every moment of their race through the keep, seeing her laughing as she ran up the stairs. For the first time in his life _he _was the one with cold feet, while she hopped on the bed and grinned at him. Of course, that was all the invitation Anders needed. While bits of clothing went flying across the room, a confusion of enchanted cloth and complex buckles, Anders felt a thrill realizing he would finally be able to actually _look_at all those parts that had tempted him so many times while healing her frequent injuries. Not just look, either, but touch, kiss, bite... and knowing that, when he looked at her as skin was slowly revealed it was like seeing her for the first time.

Anders had spent many years living under a constant shadow of death. Every apprentice knows they could fail the harrowing, every mage knows it takes little more than one angry Templar's word to brand them a maleficar. An atmosphere like that tended to make him approach every encounter as though it could be his last, to coax as much pleasure and fun out of it as possible, for both him and his partner. The attitude was, if not the norm, than frighteningly common among mages. She, of course, spent even more years under that shadow, and seemed to have developed a similar philosophy.

When Anders realized that the first time he would _finally_ get to give that Grey Warden stamina a test run would be with someone who quite literally screwed like she expected it to be her last day alive, he wondered when the Maker had suddenly started looking out for him. He also decided he would need to make sure she was very happy with the outcome since he _really_ didn't want their first time together to also be the last.

The first time he heard her scream to the Maker, muscles clenching around him in such a way that he had to start mentally tallying all the spells of the Creation school in the order he had learned them just so their fun wouldn't be over before it had barely begun, Anders wondered what she would sound like calling his name instead. He found out not long after, and it was better than he had imagined.

Anders all but moved into her room from that point on since really, sleeping next to the person you're having sex with was just _convenient_.

He could remember the evening weeks later when he wondered for the first time that it was, perhaps, a bit more than just that. Waking from one of those horrible Grey Warden nightmares, the kind that made him feel sick and scared and helpless, he discovered she already had her arms around him, brushing his sweaty hair back from his face and whispering something soothing. Instead of feeling foolish or embarrassed, or worrying she would see him as less of a man for being so bothered by a dream, Anders realized he was just grateful she was there.

The first time he thought it was possibly even that word he wasn't going to mention, at least not yet, because how would he even know if that was the case since it's not like he had a basis for comparison, was when they were standing in the stables, preparing to ride into town. He tried to stomp it down quickly, reminding himself that she was a national hero, a _worldwide_ hero, one of the most important people in Ferelden, and even a noble, while he was... just him. It was one thing to share a bed, but anything more? The idea was almost comical. But... there it was, refusing to be stomped down.

Anders almost had to chuckle. It coincided perfectly with first time he honestly felt like he was marching off to his own death, after all. The world had quite a sense of humor, it seemed, and he was the butt of the joke.

A few hours later, after she nearly attacked the captain of the city guard for even _daring_ to suggest they burn the city, killing everyone left inside, he realized it probably almost definitely was that word he still wouldn't mention since why bother at this point when neither of them would be likely to live to see nightfall. He remembered thinking about what a shame it was, feeling that for the first time after three decades only to drop dead a few hours later.

Surprisingly, they did see nightfall, and while they waited in the Chantry for a sign of the darkspawn hoard's second wave, for the first time in his adult life he actually did say _that word_, and it was perhaps even more terrifying than the fight had been. She didn't laugh in his face or look at him like he had gone insane, to Anders' shock. When she said the same thing back he was suddenly supremely glad that he had spoken up in the first place. It seemed like the sort of thing everyone should hear at least once in their life, and his was still looking like it might not extend beyond the next few days. Even if, deep down, part of him worried she only said it because she was afraid of the same thing.

When they survived it was months before either of them said it again. He had been horrified to realize she honestly didn't _know_ how he felt. Just like the first time, he felt ill trying to force the words out. Just like the first time she responded in kind. A weight was lifted from his shoulders when she smiled and said "_obviously_ I love you._" _Anders decided at that point that he probably shouldn't have waited since he _really_ liked hearing those words from her.

He could remember the first time he was injured, really, seriously injured in the kind of way most people just don't get better from. He was in the deep roads, on hand to make sure any returning new recruits got whatever healing they might have needed. Darkspawn overwhelmed their location, with far more than their small group could manage. Lightheaded, he looked down to see the point of a sword sticking out his side. His arm was actually pinned between the hilt and his body where it entered. Slumping over, he wished that he was actually able to say goodbye to someone at least _once_ in his life.

By the time she did arrive he was only barely conscious, speaking or opening his eyes was something Anders couldn't even contemplate. He felt strangely like he was both lying in the deep roads, bleeding on the floor, and in the Fade, looking at the Black City floating in the distance. He felt her lips touch his briefly, too briefly, and then she was gone. He wanted to call her back but couldn't speak. Then, for the first time in years, he felt someone else's healing magic working on him. Were he able to speak he would have screamed as the sword was pulled from his side. As he felt the tingling of more spells Anders slowly realized he was returning to the real world. Greedily sucking in air, he opened his eyes to see another of the Warden mages kneeling over him. Her name was the first thing he said. The young man pointed and Anders looked over to see her standing at the front line of the fight, as usual. However, this was the first time Anders had seen her bleeding from not one but _both_ wrists. Bright red liquid spurted out, he could almost catch the rhythm of her pulse just from watching.

Her face completely expressionless, he saw her lips move as the blood began swirling around her. One quick gesture and it was like a bomb had gone off, Wardens thrown one way, Darkspawn the other. In a way, though, it had. It was just a bomb powered entirely by her own life.

Anders had always found her far too reckless, but for the first time he looked at her and thought she was actually _stupid_.

He sat, watching Oghren carry her body over. Lips, as a general rule, should not be blue, but the image of hers exactly that shade would never leave his mind. Anders wished that it was the first time he had to wonder if he would be standing witness to her pyre in the very near future, but it wasn't.

For three days he sat watching her, slowly feeding her broth and water, and, by the time she started to briefly regain consciousness on the second day, listening to her delirious babbling. For the first time Anders was forced to think, really think, about what would happen if she died. _When _she died, he corrected himself. Since even if he did somehow manage to keep her alive, someday she would be gone, off to the deep roads, three years before him. The idea made him ache. He looked at her and made plans.

The first time her eyes opened she cried for her mother, calling him by the name of her childhood best friend. Later he was confused for the king, with the tears being for their mutual mentor, a man who died years earlier in the first major battle of the blight, leaving her to try and fill his shoes with experience that could be measured in only days. Anders wiped her face with a cool damp cloth and wondered what it would have been like to know her then.

She became marginally more coherent on the third day, recognizing him correctly. It only made her behavior that much more painful to witness, though. She sobbed hysterically, talking about how she had thought him dead. She screamed at herself for not being there, pleading with him to forgive her for failing him. Anders tried to calm her down, horrified that she honestly felt responsible. If it was anyone's fault, beyond the darkspawn, it was his own. He had convinced her to switch from robes to armor, he should have done the same. He silently prayed she wouldn't remember this when she recovered. He wished he could forget, but as he listened to her beg him not to leave her, part of his heart was breaking to discover just how much the worry consumed her, and part of him felt like he had violated what little privacy she had in a very severe way. Not for the first time he entertained the idea of burning the Circle to the ground, stopping only once on the way there to see if her parents still lived and rectifying that situation if they did, for the combined damage they had managed to do to her.

When she woke again towards the evening she began to complain about wanting to get up, having work to do, and needing to know how the newest Wardens were faring. Anders breathed a sigh of relief. He also cast a spell, knocking her out before she could actually _try_ to do any of those things.

It was the first time he'd seen her truly helpless, and it terrified him. Even when they had been kidnapped by the Architect she was planning ways to free everyone within moments of regaining consciousness. Even when she was injured in the fight with the mother she kept casting, pushing whatever pain her broken leg must have caused aside to deal with later. Seeing her broken both physically _and_ mentally reminded him, not for the first time, of just how much rested on her shoulders. Nathaniel was competent, no one would ever argue that. But he wasn't _her. _Half of the order's current power and influence came from her name. Without her... they would quickly become little more than a relic of a distant age once more. Anders knew there wasn't anything he could do about that, but for the first time he realized that he could try to eliminate some of the other worries that were plaguing her.

A week later, in Denerim, Anders wandered the market district with Nathaniel. Once more, someone had tried to kill them. Or, more specifically, _her_. Once more, they had failed and she came out of it looking like a hero all over again. He could almost laugh at the whole situation if it wasn't wondering, deep down, when her luck would run out. Nathaniel raised an eyebrow as he followed Anders into the first jewelry store they came across. Biting his nails Anders tried not to be overwhelmed by the sheer number of tiny expensive looking items in the case. "That," he finally said to the shopkeeper, pointing to a tiny silver band with a single blue stone.

"Nothing to say?" Nathaniel asked as they left.

Anders shrugged. "Just a gift. What else do I have to spend my money on?"

"Really?" he said. "Since it almost looks like it could be an-"

"Well, that's a kind of gift, isn't it?"

Nathaniel made a surprised noise. "About time," he said after a moment.

Of course, Anders still had to determine the _when_ and _how_ and so on, which was no small thing. He couldn't exactly say 'here' and shove it in her hand, after all. He'd figure it all out eventually, though. He grinned, realizing this was the first time since meeting her that he had actually managed to plan anything in advance. That had to count for something, after all.


	7. The Sound of Her Voice

_This is for the Anders livejournal six senses challange. Mine was 'hearing.' It is most definitely NSFW._

**The Sound of Her Voice**

There was something to be said for privacy. Quite a few somethings, really, if Anders had to sit down and make a list. Privacy, and really thick Avvar-constructed walls.

There were many benefits to being out of the tower, even beyond the most obvious one of _no longer being in the damned tower_.

Being able to raid the larder whenever he felt like it? Fantastic. A cook who would happily make him sandwiches or prepare a plate of whatever was on hand if she was up and about when he came looking for food? Even better. Especially since Anders was almost _always _hungry these days.

Having the run of the building and grounds? Lovely. He could read on the battlements or under a tree on nice days. Sit in the library, main hall, or pretty much anywhere else on rainy ones. If he felt like it he could spend his day in the armory, although why he would he had no idea. It was just the fact that he _could_ that was fantastic. Shoot, being a senior Warden meant he had a key to the supplies for the joining and, should he go completely mad and desire a nice grim spot to get cozy with a book, he could curl up in the shadow of the casks of archdemon blood. He had never really stopped to count just how many forbidden rooms, secret libraries, and other restricted areas there were in the Circle. Not until he finally got around to asking the Commander what areas of the Keep would be off limits, a few weeks after his Joining. She only laughed and said "well, it's rude to wander into someone's bedroom uninvited, but otherwise go wild."

So he did. There was a lovely spot on the western battlements where Anders had discovered you could see straight to the Amaranthine Ocean harbor on a clear day. Granted, you had to climb three rickety ladders to reach it, but he liked to think the view was worth the hassle.

Not living in a building where few people ever spoke above a whisper? While Anders had never _thought_ he'd want to be surrounded by a pack of screaming maniacs, now that he was... it turned out to be a good deal of fun. Especially as the number of people in the order gradually increased. Being able to find someone at all hours for a drink, a game of cards, or even just to chat whenever he was bored was wonderful. Maybe it was a lingering effect of the year he spent in solitary confinement, but ever since then he felt infinitely better knowing other people were nearby and, should he chose to, he could go talk to them and they would speak right back to him. That he felt a greater kinship with this ever-growing pack of tainted lunatics than he ever did with the majority of mages in the Circle made it all the better.

There were times he just wanted to get away from the screaming maniacs, though. Or _most_ of them, at least.

And ah... that was when he really appreciated the _privacy_. Privacy was such a foreign concept for so many years that Anders might as well have stricken the word from his very vocabulary. Even after his Harrowing he still shared a room with at least two or three other people at all times. His solitary confinement wasn't even truly solitary, as there was always at least one guard, silent and watching, outside the bars of his cell. A person shouldn't have to get used to being observed every moment of their life, but he certainly was. Maker's breath, the _bathrooms_ didn't even have doors in the tower! Not just missing inner doors, either. You could see right into them from the _bunks! _If that wasn't barbaric and inhumane Anders didn't know what was.

Of course, you could always find ways to steal moments of seclusion. The library was popular. For reasons no one could quite understand, unless it was designed by an understanding mage with a good deal of forethought, there were entire areas with the bookshelves pulled _feet_ from the walls. Slipping behind them with a friend was quite simple, and left you completely hidden to anyone that entered the room.

Of course, allowances had to be made to prevent interruption. You would think that, for people who had known nothing else, being utterly silent would eventually come naturally to them. It didn't, of course. The urge to moan, pant, gasp, even grunt... that was instinct, not something that could be turned on or off. Even when you had always managed to suppress the sounds they still _wanted_ to escape. Moreover, you wanted to hear the person you were with making those sounds! Figuring out if you were on the right track wasn't easy in the dark without auditory cues. Being quiet? That was just... wrong.

Wrong, unnatural, mood-killing, and, sadly, the only option available to them. Well, unless you _liked_ being interrupted by Templars. Anders didn't.

The first time he escaped from the tower long enough to actually end up in bed with someone Anders quickly discovered how different things could be. Just _having_ a bed was something of a luxury compared to lying on stone floors or standing, pressed against a wall. Having a bed in a room with four real walls and a door that locked? It was like a whole new world opened up to him. Although he had, unfortunately, forgotten that wonderful woman's name, Anders would never forget what it was like to _finally_ hear someone moan when he touched them. The sound of her voice was burned into his memory. He could still hear the way she gasped and cried out to the Maker. Even better was the incredible rush he got from hearing her shout out _his_ name which, if you really thought about it, made a lot more sense than screaming for the Maker. The Maker wasn't the one in bed with her, after all.

It was rather difficult to go back to the silent encounters in the tower after that.

Yes, there was something to be said for privacy, Anders thought to himself as he closed the door, shutting the screaming lunatics out. He had just turned the lock when someone rattled the doorknob. "Hey!" called a familiar voice. He opened the door quickly, the loudest and craziest of the screaming lunatics stood on the other side grinning at him. "Lock me out of my own room?" she laughed and took a drink from a wine bottle in her hand.

"I thought you were already in bed."

"Nope," she said, stepping past him. "Playing cards with Oghren. Stopped when I heard you come upstairs."

"And drinking," he said, chuckling as she spun around the room, humming an old battle song to herself.

"I thought that would be implied by the _with Oghren_ part," she pointed out quite reasonably. "And the bottle still in my hand. Here, have some!" He took it from her and finished it off, feeling warmer instantly.

Anders sat down near the fire, stretching his legs out. "Good point," he admitted. "How did you know it was me?"

"Well first, I know how you walk," she said, " and I could hear your boots in the hall. But second, who else would come in here?"

Anders had to admit, she was right. Maggie Amell was, if anything, perhaps the most lenient commanding officer in Ferelden. Maybe in all of Thedas. She didn't care who drank, which was good since she was currently somewhere just beyond tipsy. She didn't care if people fraternized in their off hours, also good since _her_ bedroom had become _their_ bedroom so long ago that the Wardens who remembered it ever being otherwise could be counted on one hand. Wear Warden gear or don't, use whatever damn weapons or spells you want. As long as you were there and ready with your skills sharp when there were darkspawn that needed to die she was happy, and the rest of your life was your own. She really only had four rules, when it came down to it. Get your job done, don't ever use her titles, treat everyone with respect, and don't you _dare_ barge into her room without knocking.

"_Eighteen years in that lousy tower with someone watching my every move,"_ she had complained to him once, another session of their favorite mutual game of preaching to the choir. _"It took killing a bloody archdemon to earn my own room with a door and a lock, and damned if I won't enjoy it" _ He could remember how she laughed after that, pointing out how silly it was for her to bother explaining it to him, the one person she knew understood perfectly. Her laugh was high and musical, a giggle he would have thought belonged to an innocent apprentice if he didn't know better. Certainly not the laugh of someone who killed the fiercest creatures in Thedas on a regular basis.

It took him a long time to get used to hearing that laugh in battle. At first whenever she would giggle his head would snap in her direction, the healer in him immediately worrying about things like 'lyrium-addled,' or 'head injury.' Laughing while covered in darkspawn blood just seemed... unnatural. But no, usually her giggles were more directly attributable to things like 'decapitated genlock' or 'frozen shattered ogre.' After years of fighting side by side he barely noticed the laughter and cheers that announced each of her kills now, only paying attention when the sound was absent since that was almost always attributable to something like 'severely injured' and 'unconscious.'

He could hear her kick off her boots, the dull thud as each of them hit the wall in the same place she left them every night. Anders had been shocked when he realized that was her nightly ritual. '_Aren't you worried about waking someone?' _he had asked her, hearing the loud sound of boots striking plaster. She just laughed again, pointing out that _his_ bed had been on the opposite side of that wall. '_Avvar construction,' _Maggie had said, hitting her hand against a wall._ 'These things are practically a foot thick. Never heard my bad nightmares when you slept over there, did you?' _Anders had to admit he hadn't. And now that he had what amounted to a front row seat for the Warden Commander's occasional screams as she battled darkspawn in the Fade, he figured the walls had to be all but soundproof.

A clicking noise indicated the clasp at the top of her robes being unhooked, the caplet falling to a furry pile on the floor. The sound of buckles being undone came not long after, and the thunk of her Tevinter-style robes' heavy belts dropping, the metal rings clanging as they hit each other. The 'whoosh' sound of her robes themselves being quite literally thrown across the room came next. He had long since given up the hope of her ever changing without leaving the room looking like a cyclone spell had been cast. All things considered, if his biggest complaint was that she was _messy_ he was lucky.

Anders stood up, putting out the candles in their sitting room in preparation for bed. A repeating thud, joined by soft cursing, came from the adjoining bedroom. _Well that's new_, he thought, going to investigate. Standing in the inner doorway he watched as she hopped on one foot, moving further across the room each time, wearing nothing but her underwear and struggling to take her stockings off. She put both feet on the floor and turned to look at him when he was unable to stop himself from laughing.

"Hey, you don't have to worry about things like stockings. They're not easy to get off!"

"Did you ever consider, oh, sitting down?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"Oh," she said, blushing. "That is what I usually do, isn't it? How could I forget?"

He walked further into the room, shutting the door and enjoying the sound of the lock clicking into place. Completely unnecessary given that there was another locked door between them and the world. But they had it, and damned if he wasn't going to use it. "Actually," Anders said, his voice deceptively casual, "I don't really know how you get them off. I've seen you sit to put them _on_, but usually _I'm_ the one pulling them off you."

"Hmmm," she said, her voice dropping an octave as she sat on the bed. "I think you're right. Does make me wonder, though. _Why_ are you all the way over there?"

Anders growled deep in his chest, clearing the distance between them in one pace and pushing her back to the bed. Leaning over her, he winced when he realized just how glassy her eyes were. "You're _really _drunk," Anders said.

"I am," she agreed, giving him a devilish grin. "Want to take advantage of me?"

"No," he said, casting a rejuvenate spell. She chuckled, now sober, and began working on the buckles of his robe.

"Didn't think so," Maggie admitted, any other commentary cut short by a hitch in her breath as Anders nibbled on her throat.

Clothing discarded, Anders began exploring her body, enjoying the various noises he could elicit. Hands cupping a warm breast earned him a sigh of contentment, quickly turning into a groan as his fingers squeezed a pink nipple. A hand trailing down her side, leaving sparks of magic in its wake, caused her to gasp loudly, grabbing him by his hair with a growl for a kiss.

Enjoying her whimpers of frustration, he lingered at her thighs, nipping at them with his teeth while she squirmed.

"Anders, please," she whined, voice faint and breathy.

Chuckling at her impatience Anders slid two fingers into her, enjoying the groan she made. As he began to lick the groans slowly turned into gasps accompanied by a low keening moan, one of her hands wound tightly through his hair, the other clutching at the blankets.

Feeling her muscles tense around his fingers, Anders flicked his eyes up just in time to catch the sight of her back arching as she shrieked out his name.

"I love the sound of your voice," he whispered, shifting so they were eye to eye once more.

Still panting as she tried to catch her breath, Maggie smiled up at him, reaching her hand down between their bodies, wrapping long fingers around his length. "I'd rather hear you," she said in a low growl.

Anders did groan then, eyes slipping closed briefly as she stroked up and down. Once he managed to regain some semblance of self-control he grabbed her leg, shifting her hips slightly. "Better plan," he said. Understanding, Maggie released her grip as he slid into her.

He groaned out her name hearing the savage grunt that escaped her lips. As her hips moved up to meet him Maggie began making soft cries, noise escaping with each of his thrusts. "Louder," Anders whispered, slipping one hand between their bodies, fingers sliding against her, matching the rhythm of their hips.

She drew in a sharp breath before shuddering slightly, head lolling back to the pillows. Anders increased his pace and moaned when her cries began to build in volume. Nails digging into his shoulders, she howled and screamed. "Harder," she ordered, "don't stop," she begged. Sweat drenched his skin as a litany of the filthiest demands and pleas he could imagine poured from her lips.

As her face grew more flush she seemed to lose the ability to say more than his name, over and over again like a chant. He reveled in it, every repetition just reinforcing that _he _was doing this to her, _he _was the one who made the great Hero of Ferelden completely lose control. Anders shuddered from the cold as ice began to coat her hands. Feeling her tense around him he groaned, watching as she tossed her head back with a final wordless howl. He matched it with his own only moments later.

Curled together under the blankets, Maggie made a sound of contentment as Anders sleepily wrapped his arms around her. "Love you," she whispered as his eyes drifted closed.

That was, without a doubt, his favorite sound of all.


	8. He certainly hadn't expected this

_Another BSN prompt one shot. As usual this had to be completed, start to finish, in an hour or less._  
_This one was a little different. Instead of a subject or theme, we had to begin with the phrase "He certainly hadn't expected this to happen." (or a tense/person variation thereof). _

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**He certainly hadn't expected this to happen**

He certainly hadn't expected this to happen. It often seemed like every expectation Anders made for his life was broken down and crushed, one by one. If he had been asked to guess at five, twelve, fifteen, even twenty years old what his life would be like now, this would most certainly not be it. It wouldn't even make the long list.

There had been a time when Anders expected that he would have a 'normal' life, or whatever most people assumed was normal. Grow up, work with his stepfather in the blacksmiths' shop, taking over eventually, meet a nice girl and get married, have a pile of screaming obnoxious children. The typical Ferelden existence.

Of course, he hadn't had many friends in those years, so how he would meet said nice girl was a bit of a mystery. If being half-elf and a bastard hadn't made him enough of an outcast among the kids his age in town, there was also his own need for secrecy. The closer people became the more likely they were to realize he was hiding something. Even worse, they might realize what he was hiding. Anders would easily take the occasional loneliness over discovery.

Not that it kept him from getting discovered anyways.

He didn't know what to expect when he was taken to the Circle of Magi. His mother had told him it was a cold, miserable tower. She had never been there, but after walking in, he realized her description wasn't far from the truth.  
It was, however, full of plenty of people his age, so Anders hoped he could at least make friends since the worst thing that could happen already had and he didn't really have much left to hide. He hadn't realized most children were taken to the tower at six or seven, some of them as young as four, and very very few as old as nine. At twelve he was an outcast. All those children his own age that he saw had formed tight-knit groups of friends years earlier.

Anders was at least able to make a large number of acquaintances when they realized he would be able to tell them what life was actually like outside the tower. He was horrified to learn most had been there so long they didn't even know where they lived before. Some couldn't even remember what their parents looked like. Even worse was the feeling he got when he realized just how few of them saw anything wrong with that. He began to question if he actually wanted to be one of these strange, broken people. He didn't know what to expect of mages, but children cowering in fear of armored men, unable to even remember their mothers' name or face, wasn't it.

Of course, that was all before his first escape attempt. When he was brought back Anders learned that the brief forays outside were cancelled for everyone all because he jumped into Lake Calenhad the first time he was allowed to join in and swam for the other side. There weren't many who would speak to him, much less try to be his friend, after that. He actually endured several months of finding his bedding mysteriously charred whenever he left the room, waking up shivering and covered in ice, and, once, paralyzed while in the bath with the water frozen by an ice spell. He was removed by a senior enchanter several hours later, blue lipped and shivering.

That offense was, if not forgotten, at least forgiven, within a few years. It seemed the older he got the more impressed people became by his attempts to escape. Some kept track, although the numbers never sounded quite right to him. He had long since stopped considering getting out of the building a true escape. For that he had to make it to the water at least. There were only a couple of those. But, whenever people talked about it girls would smile at him and giggle and do… things with their eyes that made him blush and stammer like an idiot. Did they have some kind of class to learn that eyelash waving thing? Or were they just born knowing it? He certainly couldn't figure it out and the one time he sat in front of a mirror trying he just ended up looking like an idiot all while giving himself a headache.

Anders didn't attempt to grow close to anyone, though. Sure, he had plenty who would call him a friend, but no one who could call him a close friend. He would get out of the tower. He wasn't going to get old here, becoming one of those sad shadows in red robes who haunted the upper floors, eyes downcast. He wasn't going to become Irving, more Chantry than mage. Anders would get out if it killed him. And the only way he could do that was if he knew there was nothing holding him back.

It was good practice for the rest of his life, he would tell himself as he watched the other apprentices and mages rushing around in tiny groups, heads bowed together as they laughed and shared secrets. No matter what happened, he would always be a mage. When he got out that would make him an apostate. Apostates couldn't risk living among people. It made you far more likely to be caught. Sometimes they'd bring you back to the tower, sure. But if you were out long enough the templars would just assume you learned something forbidden in all that time. No one ever complained about one less mage in the world.

So Anders had acquaintances but not friends, lovers but not girlfriends. And he was fine with that, really. It wasn't as though he could expect much more out of life.

Hearing a fist pounding on the door Anders was shaken from his, admittedly depressing, reminiscences. "Move it, Sparklefingers," called a gruff voice. "We're all waiting on you."

He hopped up. "It's that late already? I had no idea."

Oghren only laughed. As two of them walked through the halls of the Keep he talked about the latest group of warrior recruit hopefuls. "I swear," he said, "most of them don't know what part of the axe goes in their hand and what part splits a darkspawn skull."

"And they want to be Grey Wardens?"

Oghren laughed. "Heh. Maybe they heard we let you in."

"What's this we business?" Anders laughed. "Your seniority can be measured in how long it took Varel to pry the cup from your hands and pass it to me."

"And it drives you sodding mad, doesn't it?"

"Yes, Oghren," Anders deadpanned. "I'm torn apart with jealousy that you got to drink darkspawn blood before me. I still cry about it, you know. Every night into my pillow. Just ask Maggie." He smirked. "If anything, I wished I'd gone first so I wouldn't have to drink from the cup after you. I'm fairly sure it's your fault I got a rash."

Oghren was silent for a moment before laughing, hitting Anders hard enough on the back to send him stumbling forward a few paces despite his far greater height. "Ha! Should have said something. Boss got me a salve in town that cleared it right up."

"Maker's breath, I wasn't serious," Anders said, rubbing his mouth reflexively despite the shared goblet being almost four years behind them.

"You should see the look on your face," was all Oghren said.

The two of them walked into the dining hall, joining a small group at one of the corner tables. "You're late!" sang out a chipper dwarven woman, face covered in tattoos.

"Lost track of time," he said to Sigrun by way of apology as he sat down. She laughed and punched him gently in the shoulder.

"Where's the boss?"

"I haven't seen her in hours," Anders said. As if on cue the Warden Commander ran into the room, quite literally jumping into her chair. And nearly taking out the table in the process.

"Sorry," Maggie said. "Got cornered by Mistress Woolsey. Some… something about trade routes. Or was it trade taxes? I have no bloody idea. I just grin and nod when she talks and run off as soon as I can."

"Great," Nathaniel said. "I hope you didn't just agree to a tax increase that will send people rioting."

"Me too!" she laughed, realizing that despite his serious demeanor her second in command wasn't actually worried about any such thing.

"Your turn to pick," Sigrun said, grinning broadly. Anders glanced at Nathaniel, the two shared a silent moment of frustration as the dwarves cheered.

"My turn?" Maggie said, grinning. "Great! Tonight's game is Diamondback!"

Anders groaned, although he knew she'd pick that bizarre, confusing, complicated dwarven game that only seemed to make sense if you were born a dwarf. Or her, apparently. She always did. Oghren had taught her years ago and for some reason the human mage had taken a shine to it. Nathaniel muttered something under his breath.

"My turn next time," Anders whispered.

"Thank the Maker," the dark haired man replied quietly.

Sitting back, Anders watched her dealing out the octagonal cards, small piles growing in front of each of his friends. The description came to him so quickly he hadn't even realized it. But… glancing at the assembled group, he realized that was exactly what they were.

After a lifetime of isolation by choice and circumstance he certainly hadn't expected this to happen. But he was awfully glad it had. 


	9. The Queen's Request

_Another BSN prompt one shot. As usual this had to be completed, start to finish, in an hour or less._ _The prompt for this was "hair."_  
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**The Queen's Request**

"So… I have a problem," Alistair said. It was the night before his wedding, to a very nice young woman from Highever who was currently holed up somewhere in the palace with the female Wardens and a couple noble ladies she was distantly related to. Probably to discuss clothing, Anders thought to himself. That was what women did on their own, right? Talked about clothes and boys? Or, well, men given the age everyone in question was. He looked over at the king. Alistair wouldn't meet his gaze. The silence was broken only by Eamon and Oghren's drunken snoring and the hint of voices from the next room, where Nathaniel was deep in discussion with the Queen's brother Fergus, one of his childhood friends.

Anders sighed, throwing back the last of his whiskey. "Zevran, did you bring those diagrams?"

"I did!" the Antivan exclaimed, picking up a large, vividly illustrated book. Flipping through it he settled on a page, consulted Anders, and nodded before placing it before the king. "That should be suitable for a beginner," he said.

Alistair looked down and made a choking noise, turning red. "Not that. I… I know how that works!" He glanced back down, and, impulsively, turned to a page at random. "Andraste's flaming sword, is that even possible?"

"Oh yeah," Anders said, looking at the picture as he refilled his glass. "In fact, just the other night Maggie and I—"

"Woah, all right, fine, I believe you. Don't need to hear anything more."  
Zevran glanced over his shoulder. "Oh that," he said, grinning. "That is one of her favorites, isn't it?"

"I will kill you, Crow," Anders replied, lightning surrounding his arm to the elbow. "Do not doubt me."

"Fine, fine," Zevran said, waving a hand. "I have only my memories while you sleep next to the woman every night, I make one innocent comment..." he sighed, looking sad.

Anders raised an eyebrow. "Did you really expect me to fall for that guilt trip?"

"I hoped for it," Zevran said, now smirking. He turned to Alistair. "Would you like to borrow the book? You can show our future queen and see what she says."

"No," Alistair said, slamming it closed and shoving it aside.  
Teagan stood up and walked over, glancing at the source of the king's embarrassment. "Wasn't this banned by the Chantry?"

"Yes," Zevran said.

Without another word Teagan settled down into a chair, flipping through the pages.

Anders sighed, watching the king rub the back of his neck and make faces.  
"All right, Alistair. What is your problem?"

"It's Elissa…" he began.

"Ah, here is the traditional cold feet, I should have expected as much," Zevran said, sipping his own drink.

"No, no… it isn't that. She… she asked me to do something."

"And?" Anders said, shrugging. "Look, it's, um, nice and traditional and all that you want to wait until you're married. But you're really missing out on a lot. A lot. "

"Maker's breath," the king sighed. "Is everything about sex with you two?"

"If you would actually get on with it you would understand," Zevran said.  
"Besides, you should be concerning yourself with providing our nation an heir, yes? I believe that would take priority over some outdated Chantry guideline."

"For your information," Alistair said, "we have done… that already. Not that it is any of either of your business."

The rogue and mage exchanged a quick glance before jumping to their feet. "About bloody time!" Anders said, hitting Alistair on the back.

"And?" Zevran asked. "Was it all you hoped? Better?"

"If you two don't sit down and never mention this again I'll have you both thrown in Fort Drakon."

Zevran laughed. "Alistair, my men are the ones employed at Fort Drakon."

"Maggie will kill you. Probably with ice and lightning, and she might hit you over the head with her staff for good measure. She'll then slaughter her way from one end of the fort to the other and get me out, robbing you blind in the process and, somehow, causing the most expensive structural damage possible for no reason other than to prove she can."

Alistair stared at the mage. "You know, you've just described two years of my life."

"And three of mine," Anders laughed. "So… I'm assuming everything worked as it should. Which makes me wonder what the problem is."

"Well, I'm just… not sure I'm comfortable with what she asked me. And I don't know how to tell her since she seemed embarrassed to even ask."

Anders and Zevran exchanged another glance. "Are you positive you can't try what she wants even once?" Anders asked, trying to be diplomatic. "Maybe there's something you'd like her to do you can ask for in exchange?"

The king sighed. "What could I ask? She's perfect."

"Is what she's asking… something outside of what would be considered normal?"

"Not to you two," Alistair said, making a face. "I try and picture it, though, and it just seems… wrong." Glancing at Anders Zevran made a confused face. Anders shrugged and offered an extremely crude gesture in a rough approximation of what he thought the king was talking about. "If that's it he's a fool," Zevran said with a nod.

"What?" Alistair said.

"You're making a big deal out of nothing," Anders said. "Really. I swear, try it once and you'll enjoy it a lot more than you expect. Just hearing the[i] noises women make… Maker's breath, that alone is worth it."

"Huh?" Alistair said.

"True," Zevran agreed. "You are an adult now, no? There is more to it than simply… climbing onto her and moving your hips a couple times. You need finesse, you want to make sure she is happy as well. You are thinking of what should be just the finale as the entire performance."

"What in the Maker's name are you two talking about?" Alistair said, looking at him blankly. Anders got up and whispered into his ear. "What?"

"What what?" Anders said. "That's not what she asked?"

"No!" Alistair turned red again. "That actually sounds, um… fun," he blushed even darker.

"Well what did she ask then?" Zevran demanded. "Just tell us or we will be here all night guessing."

He sighed. "She wants me to grow my hair longer."

"Thank the Maker," Anders gasped out.

"She's a smart one, your future queen," Zevran said at roughly the same time.

"But… I like my hair."

"Why?" they both asked in unison.

"It's so…" Zevran made a face, unable to come up with a proper word that wouldn't earn him a punch in the face from Alistair. The king was strangely obsessed with his haircut.

"Short," Anders provided. "And you've got that wall-of-hair thing in the front. Very unnecessary. It looks… crunchy. No woman wants to run their hands through crunchy hair. How do you get it to stand up like that? Is it some kind of wax?"

"It's an elfroot balm," Alistair said quietly.

"You're kidding," Anders gasped, horrified. "No, I think you should listen to the queen. Brilliant plan, really."

"You know," Zevran said, looking at Alistair carefully. "I am seeing… oh, what was his name? Maggie's friend, maleficar… very nervous fellow…"

"Jowan?"

"Yes," Zevran said, nodding. "His haircut. Subtle. Not too long."

Anders stared at the king. "Mags' seneschal has a similar haircut. It looks better on light hair. Yes, I can see that. Absolutely."

Several hours later, after an almost uninterrupted, increasingly drunken, discussion on the king's hair, a knock came at Alistair's study door.

"Party's over," Teagan announced. "The girls are back."

Stumbling arm in arm back to the Warden compound from the palace proper, Anders looked at Maggie, her face flush from drinking. "What did you talk about? The wedding dress?"

"Oh, a bit," she said. "But I have something even better. I finally found out what an Antivan Milk Sandwich is!" Anders' eyes went wide. It had been a notorious joke around the Keep ever since the only book to survive the darkpawn attack was a filthy tome that mentioned it numerous times. "I'll show you when we get back to our room," she added with a wicked grin. "What did you talk about?"

Anders looked at her, not wanting to admit he and Zevran spent several hours discussing the care of long hair and suggesting styles to the king upon finding out the women were discussing obscure sex acts at their own party.

"Oh, you know, um… man things."

"Man things?" she raised an eyebrow. "What in the Maker's name would that be?"

Unable to actually decide what would qualify as 'man things' to a woman who knew more about armor and weapons than he did, Anders sighed. "We talked about our hair," he admitted.

She froze. "Is he going to do it?" Anders nodded. "Oh thank the bloody Maker. About time he got rid of that damn wall of hair. You know how long he spends on that? I swear, even in the blight he'd be off rubbing elfroot onto his head and shaping it using a shield as a mirror." Listening to her go on and on about the now-king's strange fixation with his hair, Anders was suddenly glad he did little more than wash and tie back his own hair every morning.


	10. Hidden

_Another BSN prompt one shot. As usual this had to be completed, start to finish, in an hour or less._ _"A change of scene Take Anders (and your favourite characters from DAO) and send him on another planet, or to the future, or to the middle ages where the Inquisition burns heretics. Send him to Mass Effect to rescue Ashley Williams from Virmire, to Ivanhoe to kick some templars' arses. Send him anywhere you want."_  
_So, this is the AOA crew, completely uprooted and dumped into another planet, era, and setting._  
_  
_

* * *

**Hidden**

She looked up as headlights cut across the front window. The engine cut out in the driveway and a key rattled in the door.

"You're late," she called without looking up from her book.

"Sorry," he replied, setting his briefcase near the door and hanging his hat. "I had a meeting."

Her eyes narrowed, the book slamming closed. "Are you insane?"

He sighed, sitting down without bothering to remove the blood-splattered lab coat. "I wasn't followed. I'm sure of it. You're worrying too much."

"Am I?" she asked, tucking her legs under the full skirt of her dress, crinoline rustling loudly in the otherwise quiet room. "I think our phone is tapped."

"What?"

She shrugged, biting her lip. "I don't know. I called Alistair earlier, there was… a clicking sound."

"You're being paranoid," he said, voice revealing how nervous he had suddenly become.

"No," she said, shaking her head emphatically. "No. I thought the same thing. I've been so on edge lately… we both have. I figured my mind was playing tricks on me."

"But?"

"But Alistair said something about it. It wasn't just me, he heard it too. He said something before I did."

He smirked, leaning back. "I hardly think anyone would really care enough to listen to you gossip with your brother."

"Dammit, Anders, you know that's not what they're listening for." She jumped to her feet and began pacing. "I swear, sometimes it's like you _want_ to get caught!"

He was silent. She spun on her heel, staring at him for a reply.

"I'm _sick_ of hiding, sick of sneaking around," he said after a moment. "Sick of it. I haven't done a damned thing to be ashamed of. Why should we let them control us like this?"

"Because it's the law?" she snapped. "Because you could lose your license. Even if you don't… who would hire you after that? What would happen to us then?"

"Like you're any better," he said, sounding petulant.

"I'm a fucking housewife, what do I have to lose? I'm not throwing away years in medical school. What's the worst they could do to me, take away my right to cook?"

"If I'm lucky."

She stared at him for a moment before grinning despite herself, a small snicker escaping her lips. "I'm being serious here!"

He smirked at her, shoving his blonde hair back. "I can tell, you have your 'I'm being serious' face on." He paused, looking at his hands and sighing. "You're right. I just hate having to deny what I am. It feels so… wrong. I'm not ashamed, I shouldn't act like it."

"I know," she said, sinking to the couch next to him. "I just don't know what else we can do."

He wrapped an arm around her. "No, you're right. We'll just keep a low profile. This will blow over soon enough. How much longer can it go on, really?"

She nodded. "That's the best plan."

"Don't worry, we'll make it through this."

They were startled by a pounding at the back door.

"Wait here," Anders said, jumping to his feet.

Biting her lip, she strained to listen in. Anders returned a moment later, followed by a dark haired man in a similar lab coat. "Jowan?" she said, taking in his expression of panic. "My God, what's wrong? And where's your car."

"I parked around the block and walked," he said. "If I'm being watched… or you are, it wouldn't be good for anyone to see me here."

"Christ, you're starting to sound as bad as Maggie," Anders said, sitting back down.

"Hm," was all Jowan said, pulling a paper from his pocket, unfolding it, and tossing it on the table.

Anders grabbed it first. "Fuck."

"What?" Maggie demanded, trying to snatch it from him. He handed it over. "Oh _shit_," she muttered after a moment. "What happened?"

"Fucking Irving is what happened," Jowan snapped. "The bastard named names. He named fucking names. For all his 'we're in this together bullshit,' it sure didn't take much for him to hop sides." He sat down, hand against his forehead. "I had to warn you. I'm sure yours is on the way."

"I knew we shouldn't have trusted him," Anders said.

"He's the fucking Chief of Surgery, what should we have done?" Jowan said. "Exclude him and we both rot on the graveyard shift for another decade?"

"That sounds a lot better than _this_," Anders replied.

All three jumped to their feet as a car pulled into the driveway. "Hide," Maggie hissed to both of them. "I'll play dumb, better than letting them question you now." She sat quietly, waiting for the doorbell.

_Bell._

_Walk._

_Breathe. _

Plastering a vapid smile on her face she opened the front door. "Can I help you?"

"Is your husband at home, ma'am?" A man in a suit at the door. Black suit.

"Oh, no," she said, still grinning like an idiot. "He works very late. He's a surgeon," she said, sounding proud. Proud and brainless. _Breathe,_ she reminded herself. _Play dumb_.

"That isn't his car?"

_Fuck_.

"It is," she admitted. "He takes turns driving with another of the doctors who live in the neighborhood." _Did he buy it? Hm. Maybe._

"I suppose I'll have to leave this with you. Now, you make sure he gets it. It's _very_ important."

"Of course," she said, still grinning. "Have a nice evening."

Watching through the peephole, an all clear wasn't sounded until the suited man had returned to his car and driven off.

Anders took the paper from her hands. "Well," he said, glancing at Jowan. "I suppose we can take the same flight."

Two weeks later Maggie sat, looking at the back of Anders' head from the other side of a wooden rail. He wore a new blue suit. Blue was nonthreatening. Her dress was nice, but not _too_ nice. Nice enough to show she cared about her appearance, nice enough that no one would call it _utilitarian_ or _drab_, but not so nice as to be ostentatious.

"Slide over."

She looked up. "Alistair, what in the hell are you doing here?"

He sat next to her. "What? You think I'll let you sit here alone?"

She bit her lip, looking down so her mouth was hidden. "You'll just get pulled down with us. What about your job?"

He shrugged. "I'm in the union. They can't just fire me out of hand." Leaning forward, he squeezed Anders' shoulder. Looking behind him, an expression of shock flashed across his face before it was replaced with a nervous but grateful smile.

The room was called to order. Squeezing Alistair's hand in fear, she listened to her husband confirm his name, birthdate, and occupation. Holding a breath, they all waited for the next question.

"Doctor, are you now or have you ever been a member of the Communist Party of the United States?"


	11. Traumatized

_One hour prompt from BSN**. **_**  


* * *

**

**Traumatized**

Anders rolled over in bed, pulling the blankets up further and grumbling. "What is that noise?" he muttered.

"Dunno," Maggie replied, still half asleep.

Grumbling, he put the pillow over his head. "What is wrong with them? Are we the only Wardens who sleep?" A high pitched howling sound was echoing through the Keep.

Maggie only responded by way of a snore. Sliding an arm around her waist, Anders replaced his pillow and attempted to get comfortable, vying for space with her and two large dogs. Pounce didn't seem to be curled up in his usual spot near the foot of the bed, though, so at least he had someplace to put his feet. Any attempt at more sleep was denied, since moments after he laid back down chaos erupted.

"Owww," Maggie shouted as a heavy weight dropped onto her. Both dogs jumped to their feet, barking and running across the bed, trampling their owners in the process, and Anders sat up, shocked.

"What?" he said, blinking in convusion.

"Anders," Maggie grumbled, eyes still closed. "I don't know what you're hoping for here, but sitting on my ankles really isn't doing it for me."

"Maggie, wake up," he said, still staring in confusion.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Seriously, would you get off of my ankles? That can't be some strange new turn on for you, can it?"

"Maggie, open your damn eyes."

She did. "What?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Anders said, still sitting next to her where he had been all along. Both of them stared at the boy currently lounging across Maggie's ankles.

"Um… we didn't have a kid and forget, did we?"

"There's a few reasons I'm doubting that theory," Anders said. "Um… kid? Where did you come from?"

At the sound of Anders' voice the child crawled over to him, flopping across his lap. "Rrrrooowww?"

"Maggie, it's… sitting on me."

"So it is," she said, holding the blankets up still.

Anders stared at her. "Well help!" he demanded.

"I have no idea what you think I can do," she said. "I don't know any more about children than you do!"

"Well, you're a woman. Aren't you supposed to know about that sort of thing?"

"And we both know I'm the very model of domesticity," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "I'm just trying not to expose myself to a small child."

Anders took a peek under the blankets. "Oh, hello," he said, reaching over.

"Small child," Maggie reminded him.

"Right," he said. Grabbing his robes from the floor, Anders pulled them over his head and climbed out from under the boy. "Come on, kid," he muttered. The boy only rolled onto his back and said "meow?"

"Maker's breath, it's like trying to talk to Ser Pounce," he muttered, grabbing the boy under an arm and bringing him in the other room. A moment later Maggie joined him, now dressed, to see the boy crawling around on the floor while Anders stood, leaning against a wall and watching in confusion.

"We should, um, find out where he came from."

"Here's the thing," Anders said. "Our door? Still locked."

"Even the bolt?"

"Even the bolt," he confirmed.

She shook her head and ordered the dogs to sit. Both were circling the boy and growling. "Well, a naked child doesn't just… materialize from nowhere."

Anders chuckled, walking over and putting his arms around Maggie. "Look honey, the good fade spirits did send us a kid!"

"Can we ask them to take it back?" she snickered. "It was clearly sent to the wrong place. I mean, I don't even think we've been sleeping together long enough to have a kid that old, we can't actually have kids, and even if we could, he's an elf. "

"He does have green eyes like you, though," Anders said, laughing.

"Maker's breath, Fade spirits did not send us a child." She groaned. "Be serious. Where did he come from? And why is he naked?"

"I don't know!" Anders said. "I'm going to get him some clothes."

"From where?"

"Oghren?" Anders said, shrugging. He returned a moment later with a pair of pants and attempted to wrestle them onto the child. "Would you cooperate?" Anders demanded. The boy only kicked at him, hissing.

"I know I said I'm not exactly an expert on children, but is this, um, even remotely normal?" Maggie was watching with concern as Anders dodged the boy's fingers, which were attempting to claw at his face.

"No," Anders said. "I mean, I don't think so. It's like he thinks he's a cat," Anders muttered. "And a kid this age should be able to talk."

She sighed, sitting on the arm of a chair. "Speaking of, where is the cat?"

"No idea, but I found this," Anders said, standing up now that the boy was at least wearing pants. He continued to make howling noises, rolling around and attempting to push them off himself. "His collar."

"Broken?" Maggie said as Anders held up the brightly woven collar, bell tinkling. It was quite clearly ripped.

"So it seems."

As if on cue, an orange cat ran into the room and began darting frantically from Anders to Maggie. "There you are," she said.

"Um, Maggie," Anders said, looking at her. "Something isn't right here."

"You think?" she replied with a roll of her eyes.

"More than that," he said, sounding exasperated. "Do you remember my cat being a mage? Because I sure don't!"

Dropping to her knees, Maggie reached out for the cat, he jumped into her arms. "Right," she said, patting the cat on the head and setting him in a chair. "I'm going to get Ronan."

Anders sighed, watching the boy and the cat, shaking his head. Maggie returned a moment later, one of the younger Wardens following behind her. He had been a templar in his previous life, and still had the skills of his old job.  
"Dispel any magic in this room," she said. "Actually, wait." Maggie disappeared into the bedroom, returning with a spare blanket, which she tossed over the cat. "Now do it."

She and Anders shuddered as Ronan called on his templar skills, skin crawling. The room briefly filled with white light. There was a strange popping sound and the boy was gone. A few seconds later a cat crawled out from inside the pants on the floor.

"What did you do?" Anders demanded, looking at the naked mage sitting on the chair under the blanket.

"Um… I was practicing shapeshifting…" Aedan began. "And then Pounce took off through your cat door, so I tried to turn myself back to normal."

Maggie sighed. "You tried to cast a spell to turn yourself from a cat to an elf instead of just trying to undo the cat spell, didn't you?"

"Maybe?" the young Warden said, blushing and holding the blanket around his waist. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to."

"It's not me you've traumatized," she said.

"I'm fairly traumatized," Anders said, sounding annoyed. "You turned my cat into a child. And the child went and jumped on our bed!"

"I'm sorry!" Aedan repeated.

"Just go get dressed," Maggie said with a sigh. Aedan walked out, wrapped in a blanket, followed by a hysterically laughing Ronan.

"I just can't figure out why he ended up a kid."

"Because the spell didn't specify an age," she said. "And since Aedan isn't really a cat it just acted on the nearest thing that was. Ser Pounce is only five."

Anders sighed again, bending over to try and pick up the cat. Ser Pounce a Lot looked up at him and hissed, darting under a chair where he gazed warily at both of them. "Oh fantastic," he muttered. "He actually is traumatized. Well, this has ruined my entire day. I'm going to go find Oghren." Anders started to leave.

"Hey," Maggie called after him. "You forgot his pants!"

Anders turned back, grabbing them. "Not why I was looking for him, but might as well take care of that, too." As he disappeared down the hall Maggie could hear him shout "hey dwarf, let's drink to forget!"

Glancing back at the cat who offered another vicious hiss, she headed out of the room. "Wait for me," Maggie called, running down the hall.

* * *

_The specific prompt for this was to write about Anders' reaction if his cat became a person._


	12. The Reason Why

_One hour prompt from BSN. __I admit, 'my' Anders was kind of a jerk in his pre-Warden days. Well... more than 'kind of.' This is actually for two prompts at once, since I had midterms for the last two weeks and no time to write. It combines the prompt "Namaya" and the prompt "the art of lying."_

_Also have a new smutfic on my dreamwidth account, pretty sure it wouldn't meet the rating guidelines here since it was written for a kinkmeme. _http:/ amhran- comhrac. dreamwidth. org/

**

* * *

**

**The Reason Why**

"Get _out_!" she screamed, throwing his boots at him, first one and then the other.

Anders scrambled, pulling his robes on as he hopped across the room, fighting with socks and belts. _Damned Tevinters_, he thought. _They never have to get dressed in a hurry_?

"Out!" she screamed again, hitting him.

"I'm going!" he said, backing away. "But… it wasn't my fault. Why aren't you yelling at her?"

Namaya glared at him, growling. He stepped back. "You were in bed with my _sister_! "

"I didn't know!" he insisted again. And really, he hadn't. At least, not at first. "It was dark! She should have told me I was in the wrong room!"

"Out! Out! Out!" she screamed again. "I help you hide from templars, I kept you from starving to death, and this is what you do? What kind of worthless bastard are you?"

"Oh, did I tell you that?" he said, surprised. "Really, holding that against me seems a bit much. It isn't as though I can control who my father was."

"Eeeargh!" she screamed, pushing her hair back. "I am going to _kill you_ if you don't _get out_ right _now_!"

Anders tried to smile at her. "I don't suppose you'd still be willing to help me with finding my phylactery."

Namaya's eyes narrowed and she unsheathed a dagger from her back.

"All right, nevermind," Anders said, backing away quickly. "Forget I said anything. And, um, I'm sorry. Really, really sorry."

After stopping in the hall to finish getting dressed Anders went downstairs and sat in the main room of the inn. Pulling out his money he asked how much a room would be. "A sovereign," the bartender said. "Extra twenty silver if you want breakfast with it."

Anders glanced at the coins in his hand. A half-sovereign piece, eight silver, and four copper. "Um, just checking. Can I get an ale?"

The glass was set before him. "Troubles with your lady?"

"I suppose," Anders shrugged. "I mean, she wasn't really _my _lady, but yes, there are certainly troubles."

"Ah, give her a few hours, she'll calm down by morning."

Anders shrugged, sipping his ale. The bartender wandered off before long when he realized Anders had no interest in talking.

With the drink gone and no legitimate excuse to stick around he wandered out into the streets of the town. They were somewhere between Denerim and Amaranthine. Not that he had the faintest idea _where_. He'd met Namaya in Denerim and followed her since then. It wasn't as though the Circle had regular geography classes, after all. Kicking a stone with frustration, Anders turned down an alley. A quick glance in the window revealed shelves covered in bolts of fabric. A dressmaker, then. Or tailor. In either case, not a business that would open before daylight. With a sigh he sat on the ground, leaned against the wall, and attempted to sleep.

Anders woke with the first light of dawn. Brushing the grit of the street from his robes, he tried to smooth his hair back. In daylight he could see flowers lining the windows of the building he had slept behind. Glancing around and seeing no one else on the street this early in the day, he plucked almost half of them from each of the window-boxes before heading back to the inn.

Ordering a small pot of tea he sat in the front room and waited, flowers at the ready.

The whole thing wasn't _really_ his fault, as far as he saw it. The three of them were drinking together. Namaya and her sister (truth be told, Anders couldn't quite remember her name) retired upstairs while he stayed at the bar to finish the pitcher of ale. That turned into one more, and by the time he made it upstairs he couldn't quite remember which room was the one he and Namaya had, and which was her sister's.

He picked wrong.

Of course, Anders hadn't known that. Not right away, at least. Dropping his robes to the floor, he made his way across the room and crawled into the bed. His feet had barely left the ground before something warm, female, and elven was hanging off him, doing all sorts of very interesting things with her hands and mouth.

"N-Namaya?" he said, surprised. Not that he wasn't sleeping with her, or planning to sleep with her that night. It was simply that this woman was completely unlike the one he had been sleeping next to since they left Denerim. Even drunk, he realized she wasn't normally so… aggressive.

The only response was a giggle. A high pitched, extremely feminine, young sounding giggle.

It was at about that point Anders realized he was in the wrong room.

Seconds later, when her head dipped below the blankets, he determined that he really didn't care. After all, they had _just_ met. It wasn't as though they were married! He could sneak back to the proper room after with no one the wiser.

It actually seemed like Anders was going to get away with it. Until he realized Namaya's sister was a screamer. Normally that would be fine. To be completely honest, normally that would be just _fantastic_. But not when he was trying to keep them from getting caught by the woman who was sleeping on the other side of a very thin inn wall. "Oh Maker!" she shrieked, and someone pounded on the wall. Anders hoped that would be enough of a hint.

Nope.

A few more shouts to the Maker followed, with more pounding from Namaya's side of the wall. "Yes!" her sister screamed, oblivious to the disturbance she was causing. "Yes! Yes! Oh Anders!"

The pounding on the wall stopped suddenly. Anders froze, hearing a door slam open. If he had been sober he would have hid under the bed, or in the closet, or _something_. Not… tried to finish before they were interrupted.

But Anders was far from sober.

So now he sat waiting for Namaya to come downstairs, sipping his tea and rearranging flowers. It wasn't as though he was heartbroken… well, he was, but she wasn't the reason. His phylactery. She insisted they were in Amaranthine, having overheard two templars gossiping about it. She insisted they could find, and destroy, the damned thing. The idea of being that close to freedom and missing out because he opened the wrong door? _That_ was heartbreaking.

"What do _you_ want?"

He turned around in his chair. Namaya was standing at the foot of the stairs, arms folded. Her sister had been behind her, but scurried back up the stairs when she saw Anders. He pretended not to notice the black eye.

Jumping up, Anders crossed the room quickly, holding out the flowers. Looking her in the eye he loaded as much sincerity into his voice as he could manage with a straight face. "I only want a chance to apologize," he said, staring into her eyes. "I'm not going to ask for another chance. As much as I'd want one, I know I don't deserve it." She snorted and he held out the flowers. "I was stupid. I shouldn't have had so much to drink that I didn't know where I was. It was my fault, and I'm sorry." With a sigh she grabbed the pilfered bouquet from his hand. Looking miserable, Anders reached over, running a hand along her cheek. "Take care of yourself," he said sadly. "I… I'll leave you alone now."

Anders walked towards the door.

"Wait," she called. "Anders…" He turned to look back at her. "You _really_ didn't know it was the wrong room?"

_Success_, he thought, suppressing a smirk that was threatening to erupt.

* * *

Oghren slammed his glass down. "Even I think that's low," he said.

"I'm not denying that," Anders said. "It was a long time ago. I was… a different person then."

The dwarf shook his head, beard twitching. "The things you get away with… makes me sick. All you do is make those big eyes and women drop at your feet. Believe any damn thing you tell them."

"Oh, be fair," Anders said. "You know damn well I don't… make _big eyes_ at anyone now." Oghren raised an eyebrow. "Well, fine, but she's the only one. And I don't lie to her. She'd see right through it, anyways. You make it sound like I'm out tormenting half the women in the city!" Sighing, Anders set his own glass down. "I admit, it wasn't my finest moment. But… I managed to get myself captured in the next town, which she took as me disappearing without a trace, and, well…" He shrugged, hands out.

"Well?"

"You _really_ need to cut down on the ale," Anders said, making a face. "_Well_ they stopped here for the night. The next time I saw Namaya was when she sent us into that templar trap just after we'd both become Wardens."

"The boss always wondered why you didn't want to go after her," he said. "She wanted to. Still does, I think. You know her temper."

"You really think I wanted _her_ to know that story?" Anders said. "Especially then! I was still trying to convince her I was a decent guy, this wouldn't have helped my cause!"

"Yeah, well, you would have deserved it. If I knew I would have sooner knocked you on your arse than let you get within ten feet of her. She's screwed up enough as it is."

"I know," Anders sighed. "I was an ass, I admit it. But… that's what happened. You wanted to know why she sent us into that trap, there you go."

"You ever find out what happened to her?"

"I guess she's fine. Living in Denerim now." Anders smirked then, picking his glass back up. "Her sister kept writing to me, asking to visit. I had to threaten to sic Maggie on her if she didn't leave me alone. Not a peep since then."


	13. Distraction

_One hour prompt from BSN. Which I probably failed at since I wrote it, then tried to tone it down enough to post on the forum, then got annoyed and tried to change it back so I could just link without having two versions. _

_The theme was claustrophobia, inspired by Anders' line "It's dark down here. And heavy. And dark" you get in the deep roads. Mine became a little less claustrophobia and a little more "Anders hates the deep roads._"

_For those keeping track this would be occurring in chapter 24 of AOA, with looks back at chapter 11 and at recruiting Sigrun in NB. _

**

* * *

**

**Distraction**

Staring into the darkness, Anders chewed on the side of one fingernail.

Maggie was mumbling about something, he wasn't paying attention. "I want to get out of here," he finally said.

"Me too," she agreed.

"I don't like looking at the place I'll die." But that wasn't entirely it. It was part of it, sure. The Deep Roads were bad enough taken just for what they were, but he couldn't enter them without having that thought dancing through his mind. The walls, the ceiling… stone everywhere. No windows, no light but lava. No air. It was a tomb.

In Orzammar he could put that aside. Orzammar was brightly lit, full of people and life. The deep roads were nothing more than a giant open grave.  
Traveling to Kal'Hirol after joining the Wardens was bad. He managed to hide his discomfort… mostly, but only because the fear of how everyone else would react if he panicked was far worse. Especially her. Howe would have mocked him mercilessly, and Oghren would have turned teasing him into a new side profession. But she was the one whose opinion mattered. He wanted her, and something told him acting like a scared little boy because they were a few dozen… hundred… _thousand_ feet underground wouldn't exactly be a mark in his favor. Especially not when she and the dwarves strode ahead of the others, as comfortable as someone walking through an open field on Summersday.

_Maker's breath_, he thought, watching her wipe an ancient signpost off with her sleeve, conferring with Oghren and their latest addition, before dropping to sit on the _ground_, pulling food from her pack. She was going to eat... here. He winced. She must have said something, since everyone else sat down seconds later, and turned to look at him. Not trusting his voice, he forced himself to sit, refusing to look down first, and stared into his bag.

The newest member of their small band was a disturbingly chipper woman who belonged to something called _The Legion of the Dead_. Anders shuddered to hear the name, something that rolled casually off his commander's tongue, as though it was perfectly reasonable. Dead… all dead. Even the people who _live_ here are already dead. He shuddered.

The commander caught him looking at a body crumpled against the wall, little more than bone and rags. "Some are from when the roads were closed," she offered. "Back when the darkspawn originally swarmed them. The skeletons. But Orzammar sentences people to come here. They give them a sword and tell them to kill darkspawn, so it could be that." To his horror she reached down, taking the dragonbone sword from the corpse. "This is nice," she muttered. "No reason it should go to waste." Her face darkened as she glanced up at him. "My first, maybe second, trip in Alistair and I found the body of a Warden. Surrounded by darkspawn corpses, dozens of them. One still had their sword through his ribs. I made Alistair start wearing his helmet. He was kind of disgusted, but he needed one and I don't think any Warden would complain about a brother getting some use out of their gear. Still, seeing it… wasn't easy." A cloud seemed to cross her face, eyes darkening slightly and taking on a distant look, as though she could stare past him and see her own inevitable ending. Anders had to admit, seeing her discomfort made him feel a little better about his own.

Somehow he managed to get through that trip, although another day probably would have made it impossible to hide his fear. He didn't sleep the entire time, and sooner or later one of them would notice his exhaustion. Sooner or later his secret would be out, and they would all know how afraid he was.  
Taking a batch of new recruits below the Keep, Anders managed to keep a smile on his face the entire time. He was particularly proud of that. Granted, the only reason it was possible was because he knew only an hour or two later he would be climbing the ladder into the basement and, from there, walk up the stairs and back into the light. Granted, hearing the young men gossip about her didn't help. Comments that she was prettier than they expected was one thing, but their observations about her lips and backside and various other parts of her body no one but Anders was supposed to notice in _that_ way were enough to keep him too angry to be afraid.

This trip, though… They'd been underground for days. They had days more to go. They were attacked by darkspawn, deepstalkers, giant spiders… even a group of bloody _templars,_ of all things, were wandering around looking to rid the Chantry of the bigmouthed mage Arlessa thorn in their side. And, of course, because being in the deep roads wasn't bad enough, because being in this giant open tomb wasn't bad enough, because being in the place they would _literally_ die, if not now than eventually, wasn't bad enough… and mostly because it was _her_ and it was what she did, she'd invited the lone templar survivor to join them.

Of course. How could she not? Collecting assassins was practically her _hobby_.

Don't most women knit?

So now they sat in camp with the bloody Legion of the bloody _Dead_, in this open grave, on watch to make sure the stupid bloody assassin didn't slaughter anyone in their sleep.

Anders closed his eyes and tried to think of sunlight. Tried _not_ to think of the sound of half a dozen Wardens struggling through nightmares of darkspawn and death. Neither was really working.

"Anders," Maggie said softly. He barely registered her voice, staring blankly ahead at the wreckage of Boonamar. "Anders?" she repeated.

"Sorry," he said with a shudder.

"Our watch is over," she told him.

"Oh," he said flatly. That meant sleep. Or rather, attempts at sleep, tossing and turning as the walls pressed in on him and the darkspawn screamed in his mind.

"Let's go for a walk," Anders announced, pulling her by the arm.

"What?" she demanded. "A _walk_? _ Alone_?" Maggie made a face. "Too dangerous."

"Not far," he plead. "I can't look at this place anymore." Now babbling, Anders began making excuses why they had to leave. Talk about the assassin, talk about the rest of the trip, something, anything, just to get away from the site of the giant trench and abandoned fortress.

She must have seen the panic on his face since, after a moment, Maggie sighed and nodded. "Let me tell them where we're going so no one worries."

Once they disappeared around the corner of a nearby tunnel, leaving them hidden from camp, Anders turned and grabbed her. Throwing her against the wall, he gripped her waist tightly while mashing his lips to hers. He was being rough, probably _too_ rough, even for her, but he couldn't stop to think about it. All he could think about was his own burning need. _Please_, he thought, biting her neck. _Please help me forget_.

He expected her to push him away, to complain he was being reckless or irresponsible. Even to complain that he hurt her. Instead, though, she gasped, kissing him back with just as much ferocity. Her fingers were winding through his hair, tugging slightly at first, and then harder, the nails of her other hand digging into his skin at the back of his neck.

Barely aware of his actions, Anders grabbed her hair, yanking Maggie's head back roughly. She groaned as his teeth scraped the skin of her throat. Briefly grateful for an injury earlier in the day that left her leather leggings cut up on the floor of an old thaig, Anders thrust his hand between her thighs. Maggie sighed, her hips grinding against his fingers as he slipped them between linen and skin and into damp warmth.

Reluctantly, Anders stepped back after a moment. Maggie took the opportunity to wiggle out of her underclothes while he cast a quick spell. It turned out the magic that would allow him to wear armor and wield a sword without getting exhausted would also allow him to lift her off the ground effortlessly.

Grabbing her hips, Anders lifted Maggie off the ground. She slung her arms around his neck, hooking legs around his waist as he frantically shifted clothing and armor out of the way. Feeling the walls of the tunnel closing in on him, Anders clutched at her legs, holding her up and pinned to the wall. She groaned, nails cutting the skin of his shoulders as he pushed roughly into her, gasping as she clenched tighter around him.

There were no sweet words or lingering glances. No staring into each others' eyes. Grunting, eyes clenched tightly closed against the sight of the cave walls, he slammed into her again and again. The occasional moans and gasps that escaped her lips, which were plastered to his throat, only encouraged him. With a final groan, brought on by feeling her tighten around him as she cried out, his knees folded. Still holding tightly to her, Anders sank to the floor of the tunnel.

"Thank you," he whispered into her ear.

Maggie made a noise of contentment, nuzzling his throat, apparently oblivious to the blood and filth of their last confrontation with the darkspawn that covered them both. "Love you," she whispered.

He closed his eyes, managing a small smile of gratitude for that. Thanks to her he'd been able to forget the deep roads, even if only for a few minutes. Facing them again seemed just a little easier, now that he could remind himself that even in this giant open grave, the grave that their bodies would one day be added to, both of them were still very much alive.


	14. Jealousy

_One hour prompt from BSN. Theme was "Jealousy"_

_Check out Miri1984's answer to the same prompt, the most recent chapter in her __Some Assembly Required__ one-shot collection for her story Fractures (it's on my favorites list, and should be on yours since she's fantastic), where an AU version of Maggie who became A Warden but not THE Warden makes something of a guest appearance._

_Edit since, for some reason, my text formatting didn't carry over.  
_

**

* * *

**

**Jealousy**

Wincing, Anders tried to ignore the whispers behind him. Maggie, oblivious as always, bounded on ahead of him to buy candy from a market stall. "Two boxes," he could hear her say. "No… make it three."

"Is that her?"

"You think? Just… buying candy? Here?"

"Sure looks like her."

"How'd you know?"

"Seen the statue in Denerim. Better looking in person, though. Nicer legs."

Anders stepped closer to her. "I got a box for us," she grinned, offering him a piece. "Another for Oghren's daughter, and one for Jowan's daughter." She rarely referred to either girl by their name, probably because both of them were named after her. It had to be a bit strange.

Listening to the men behind them discussing how short her robes were, Anders took the candy right from her fingers with his mouth. "You see that? How'd he end up getting someone like her?"

"Eh, probably just because he's a mage. Stick to their own kind, you know."

"Ignore them," she whispered. Not as oblivious as he thought, then.

Chewing the candy, Anders nodded. "This is fantastic. What is it?" That was all it took, evidently, for the elderly Antivan woman running the stand to begin loading them up with examples of everything she made. They left with several loaves of bread filled with fruit and even more candy. "She cleaned us out!" Anders exclaimed, walking away. Somehow three boxes of candy at a few silvers each became several sovereign worth of sweets. "Give me another piece," he added.

"The marzapane or the torrone?"

"I don't really care. Something sweet."

She handed him something white, with chunks of nuts in it. As he munched on it several children came over to speak with her; their parents wanted to talk not long after. He shifted from one foot to the other as what looked to be half of the population of the city of Amaranthine passed by, all eager for a chance to meet the Hero of Ferelden. As though they hadn't before. As though this didn't happen almost every single time they came into the city.

Eventually she managed to extract herself from the crowd, pleading the time. "We need to get moving," she whispered. "Or we'll never be home by dark."  
Thanks to another group who cornered them by the stables at the city gates it was well after dark when they rode into the courtyard of the Keep.

The next afternoon the latest recruitment mission returned home, a wagon of fresh faces from several of the towns along the Eastern coast of Ferelden. She wasn't as hands on with recruits these days, with good reason. He remembered back when she was. They had gone on trips together to find people, in fact. Half of them wouldn't be able to fight without tripping over their own feet the second she looked in their direction. And there would always be someone ready and eager to challenge her, as though somehow the entire nation had been tricked and they would prove she couldn't actually hold her own in a fight.

So, other people did the scouting now. She would talk to the recruits before their trip into the Deep Roads, though, and conduct the Joining after. "It only seems fair," she said. "I'm the Commander, it's my responsibility." But, that meant she was a veritable stranger they saw for a little while, in her fancy armor or robes, before stomping off into the basement with nothing but her reputation in their minds.

Book in hand, Anders sat in the hall near the barrier door, trying to pretend he was reading above ground, outside. With no mages in the group he had joined them, waiting in case of an injury. Granted, they thought he was there as an observer, perhaps testing the current Wardens, but warning them about the potential to get injured would only make them more nervous, and then more likely to get injured. It was the same charade they went through every time a group of recruits went through this without a healer among their numbers.

"Well she wasn't what I expected," one of them was saying. "I mean, did you see those legs?"

Anders clenched his fist, counted to ten. The kid could be dead in an hour, beating his head into the wall now would only be cruel.

"Legs? Nah, I was looking a bit higher up." More crude laughter. "Hey, might get to see a bit more one of these days. I read that book about her. I guess she was going at it with the king all during the blight, Loghain at the end and half the nobles in Denerim. Plus all them templars in the mage's tower."

"You don't really think that's true, do you?"

"Who cares, it's worth a shot."

Curse that book, Anders thought. The author actually had the nerve to introduce himself when they were in Denerim for the fifth anniversary of the blight. Anders, who had been trying to watch the unveiling of the statue, had told him off before hitting him with lightning. Maggie still didn't know about that, he wasn't entirely sure she'd be pleased. She was never as fond of his 'hit fools with lightning' policy as he would have liked.

Someone was laughing hysterically. Looking up, Anders saw Tobias, one of the most senior Wardens in Ferelden, recruited on their very first trip after the Architect had been killed, clutching his sides and leaning against the wall.  
"I am amazed you've kept your temper," he managed after a moment. "There's a burn mark on your book's cover, and another on the floor."

Anders raised an eyebrow. "Can you blame me?"

"Not at all," Tobias said. "I'm just surprised that's all you've done. We were taking bets, you know. I could lose five silver to Aidan unless you feel like setting someone on fire very quickly."

Anders stood up, chuckling. "You don't have to live with her. I do that and, well, it won't be pretty. For me."

"Yeah, but five silver!" Anders rolled his eyes.

The two recruits, who had been with the first group and were waiting for the others to return so everyone could leave together, glanced at the Wardens. "Are… we missing something?" one said after a moment.

"Oh yeah," Tobias replied, laughing even harder.

"Is this one of the Warden secrets we can't hear about yet?"

"Nope," Tobias said. "Not even close." He looked over at Anders. "Can I, or do you want to?"

"Go right ahead," Anders said, waving his hand. "I'd hate to spoil your fun."

Tobias grinned leaning against the wall, his bow casting strange shadows on the ground. "Let's see," the elf said, smirking. "How can I put this...? Well, if you're ever looking for the Commander's bedroom, it's the second floor, east wing, fourth door."

The two recruits exchanged a glance, grinning. "Really?" one said.

"Absolutely," Tobias went on. "Coincidentally, if you're ever looking for Anders' bedroom, it's also the second floor, east wing, fourth door."  
Another exchanged glance. "I don't suppose you're, um, across the hall from each other?"

"No," Anders said flatly. After listening to their stumbling apologies for several minutes Anders sighed. "Just… stop talking. Please," he finally said.

They fell mostly silent, whispering between each other. Tobias laughed again a moment later. "No, you didn't hurt his feelings," he said. "He's doing his best not to kill you. Probably because the boss yells if we, you know, kill recruits. One of her rules. Don't you know you should never piss off a mage? And especially her." He dropped his voice to a theatrical whisper. "They can kill you with their minds. " Anders rolled his eyes as the recruits retreated as far away as they could manage in the confines of the tunnel.

Mercifully, the final group returned and Anders could escape the collective idiocy he had been subjected to all morning.

A table, formerly part of the main hall décor, was sitting in the courtyard. Well, it had been a table. Whatever happened had left it a bit too charred to be called one anymore.

"That was pretty good," Maggie said as they got ready for bed. "Eight out of ten! Really good, actually."

"It was," Anders agreed, sitting under the blankets watching her. "I wonder why we get better results than anyone else."

"Because Fereldans are tougher than everyone else," she said matter-of-factly, grinning at him. "That and I avoid anyone who uses the words 'honor' or 'glory' like they were covered in open sores. I think they're jinxed." She paused for a moment. "Any reason two of the new wardens spent ten minutes asking me to pass an apology on to you?"

"There was a misunderstanding," was all Anders said. She raised an eyebrow. "You know that book about you? The one you hate?"

"The one written by the guy you hit with lightning that said I had sex with every third man in Ferelden during the blight? Yeah, I know it." Oh, apparently she did know about that.

"So did they," he said flatly.

"Damn book," she grumbled, crawling in next to him. "Sorry."

He shrugged. "I can deal with sharing you with the whole country whenever we leave the Keep. That's about where my patience ends, though." Anders lifted his arm so she could scoot closer. "Don't worry, I didn't hit anyone with lightning."

"Something like that," she said, "well, maybe we can make an exception. I don't really need anyone thinking the Warden Commander is no better than a common prostitute. It's bad enough everyone thinks I'm a maleficar."

"You are a maleficar."

"I know that! I don't want people to think I am, though. It's bad publicity."

"Right," Anders laughed. "How could I forget? So, what happened to the table I saw outside?"

"Oh… nothing," she said quickly.

Anders shifted so he could look her in the eye. "Maggie…?"

"I might have, um, used it to prove a point."

He smirked, sitting up. "Now you have to tell me. What point would this be?"

"Maybe a 'new recruits shouldn't talk about wanting to see how muscular Anders is under his robes where I can hear them since I can kill with a flick of my wrist' sort of point?"

"You set a table on fire?" Anders looked at her and burst out laughing.

"No!" she said. "I'm not insane!" He stared, waiting for the explanation. "I hit it with lightning. Which, um, sort of set a book that was sitting on the table on fire. It kind of spread from there." She made a face at him. "Hey, I was tempted to hit them. I think the table they were sitting near was a fair compromise."

"Of course it was, sweetheart," he said, still laughing.

"Shut up," she pouted.

He pulled her back over towards him. "All right," Anders said. "You know I love only you, right?"

"I know," she said. "And I love only you. Well, the kind of love that involves getting to see me naked, at least. There isn't even anyone who I have the kind of like for that involves seeing me naked anymore! And I used to have a lot of those."

He made a face. "Yeah, well Jowan saw you naked," Anders said.

"Maker's breath, I was five and there was a heat wave. That doesn't count."

"Just saying."

She made a noise of frustration. "Just stop talking," Maggie demanded. "That whole seeing me naked thing? You're completely wasting it."

Anders had to admit, she had a point.


	15. Grey Warden  Mutual Friend

_Written for page 200 of the Anders thread on BSN. We couldn't come up with much of a "200" theme so we went with "Grey Warden" as the topic. Since they were banished for 200 years.  
After is a drabble I wrote for Miri1984. Since she had "Maggie if she never became the warden" in the Fractures universe, I wanted to do a little something with "Neria if she never became a warden" in AOA universe. _

* * *

Grey Warden  
Well this is an unexpected turn of events, Anders thought to himself as he was torn between watching the retreating form of Ser Rylock and watching the woman who had just saved him from her making faces at the Templar's back and… yes, yes she was doing a little dance as well. Oh good. If you have to be conscripted into a fanatical military order it's really best your commanding officer is a complete lunatic. Keeps things fun.

"Me, a Grey Warden?" he blurted out. Not that he didn't appreciate her, well, whatever it was she just did. The king made an obviously-sarcastic comment about wondering if she had anything to say- and really, were kings allowed to be sarcastic? Didn't they have to be serious and official and… kingly? But, the black-haired woman responded with something very official and final sounding, and the Templar was forced to back down. "Well, I guess that would work," Anders had said when he realized with a shudder that he'd somehow managed to end up conscripted into the Grey Wardens, hoping he didn't sound ungrateful.

It didn't work.

The Warden Commander had been beaming, clearly very pleased with herself. His words brought her smile crashing down. She recovered quickly, but for a moment Anders felt like he had kicked a puppy. Or, in this case, a pretty girl in a very short skirt. Really, that was far worse than kicking a puppy.

Anders chewed on his nail, watching the king's entourage disappear down the road. "Cut it out," the dwarf said, smacking his arm down. "You're covered in darkspawn blood, genius," he added when Anders gave him a quizzical look.

"Oh…"

"Yeah," the man replied, shaking his head. "I thought all you mages were supposed to be smart?"

"I'm having an off day," Anders said drily.

So worried about whatever was going to happen to him now, Anders had somehow forgotten: darkspawn blood was poison. Contact could result in incurable disease. Even worse, it resulted in a disease where the only kind option was to kill the infected before they became a ghoul and ran off to join the darkspawn. Lovely.

He tried to join in the conversation as their small group walked back towards the building. Apparently the redheaded dwarf, who stunk of ale from yards away, would be joining. Not exactly the first person Anders would pick to recruit, but he'd gathered that the man was a good friend of the commander and one of the heroes of the blight. That probably would be enough to skip anyone past the "how many of me are you seeing right now" and "do your hands shake before you have your breakfast ale" portion of the entrance exam. The young woman in armor was a knight, also volunteering. When she had told him his response was "well good luck with that."

Ah, irony.

Feeling like he had jumped from the Circle's frying pan into some 'spend the rest of your life covered in blood and guts until you meet a painful untimely end' Grey Warden fire, he watched the other recruits head in. Evidently the commander wanted to speak with him alone. Anders made a joke, giving her one of his best grins. Even if he didn't want to join her crazy suicidal order, and even if watching her slice into her own hand in the middle of battle before a cloud of blood-tinged magic surrounded her had chilled him to the bone… well, that was no reason they couldn't still be friends. Ideally the kind of friends who saw each other naked. She had been all in favor of the idea when they met in the Circle years ago, after all. If only he'd known it at the time, since she didn't seem to remember him now.

Shaking his head, Anders tried to clear his thoughts. He should force himself to keep his mind on the present.

"I'm giving you an out," she said. Mouth open in surprise, he listened as she told him he could leave, walk away. Not only that, she'd tell people he had died.

He could be free.

He winced when he realized why. It was because she had simply assumed he would just run away and humiliate her in front of her superiors. Well, given his reputation it wasn't exactly an unfounded worry. He probably would.

She then proceeded to do everything possible to convince him being a Grey Warden was, somehow, a great deal of fun. Her speech switched between vague yet grim warnings and near-pleas for him to stay. He half expected her to actually drop to her knees and beg, judging by the look of desperation in her eyes. His imagination briefly filled in that picture, which led to him thinking of… other things. Maker's breath, he admonished himself. Get your mind out of the gutter. Focus! This could change the rest of your life. He directed his attention to a point beyond her shoulder, ignoring green eyes and short, tight mage robes.

Why am I still here? Anders thought, listening to her answer his questions about blood magic with an elaborate justification. She said I could go. Why am I still here?

He tried to forget the sound of darkspawn in the distance, the screams of everyone they killed as they moved towards his cell. The monstrous teeth, the smell of rot that followed them, and their dead vacant eyes haunted his memory.

Exhaustion pulled at him. Their small group had fought through the night, clearing the building of darkspawn despite their far superior numbers. Before that he had been dragged across half the arling by the Templars, beaten and exhausted; the culmination of three years spent on the run. Sometimes living well, most of the time not. Sleeping in the woods, even in the rain and snow. Starving. In constant fear of capture. This could be… what…? A job? A life? Even if every mage in Thedas was freed tomorrow he would still need some way to support himself. No one would pay him just to be handsome and charming. Well, not that he'd found so far, at least.

"Let's say I decide to stay," he found himself saying, glancing at the splashes of darkspawn blood still covering his robes. She beamed at him.

***

Anders looked into the glass. Well, no, glass wasn't quite accurate. This was a goblet, an ostentatious, ornate goblet. Of course, any creepy ceremony involving drinks and ancient oaths and secretive orders wouldn't use a simple glass, it would have to be something crusted with jewels.

Although he did have to admit, it was rather nice. Are those rubies? Anders thought briefly, glancing over it in an attempt to avoid thinking about what was in it.

Briefly, the idea of dropping the glass (goblet) and bolting crossed his mind.

The first recruit to drink had been the dwarf. Since she found him in the middle of a circle of darkspawn sliced in half by his massive axe the two had been speaking in the way of people who were very familiar with each other, all half sentences and facial expressions and vague references to past events. Anders had seen a drawing once of the entire group she traveled with during the blight: who hadn't, with the way they were celebrated all over Ferelden. The dwarf wasn't as clean looking in real life.

The young woman in armor would evidently be going after him. She was grinning broadly, clearly excited beyond words. Maybe this won't be so bad, Anders thought, glancing at her and then the commander, if all the girls look like these two I could even get to like this place.

She had tried to warn him, true, but it wasn't until she looked at the prone dwarf and sighed in relief, muttering "he'll live" that Anders realized just how bad the potential outcome was.

All this to join an order that fought darkspawn… when there wouldn't be a real darkspawn threat again until long after all of them were dead and forgotten. A blight just ended. Hundreds of years pass between them, even he knew that. Sure, there were darkspawn around now, but they were probably just… leftovers of the blight. In a few years everything would be back to normal. It seemed almost pointless to take a risk like this.

But, something told him she wouldn't just let him walk out, not now that he knew what the Grey Wardens obviously went to lengths to keep secret.

This all flashed through his mind in a split-second, after accepting the goblet. "So, that's it?" he said, trying to sound light. "We have to drink this?"

"That's it," she nodded. "All Wardens have to." Of course. She had explained that, in great horrifying detail, once they were inside. Being able to sense darkspawn, immunity to their poisonous blood… all for the price of one goblet of filth.

"Well, all right," he said, continuing to stall. Anders fully expected her to jump in at any moment and laugh, saying 'just kidding! Who would drink darkspawn blood? That's crazy!' at any moment. The dwarf was probably in on the joke. That's what people do in this sort of situation, right? Stupid jokes at the expense of the new guy. But no, she was watching him with those bright green eyes and a worried expression, lower lip caught between her teeth. "If I wake up on a ship bound for Rivain in nothing but my smallclothes I'll be very angry," he joked. Not even a hint of a smile. The woman next to him sighed in annoyance.

She did seem to be awfully content with her lot in life, though. Anders couldn't help but notice that. She was from the Circle and evidently hated it as much as he did, if her 'they'd have to drag my corpse through the doors to get me back' comment was any indication, but was obviously happy here. Granted, she also shouted 'hooray' after every skirmish, so she was clearly a little unbalanced, but he had to have faith that an order as ancient and respected as the Grey Wardens wouldn't put a complete maniac in charge. Maybe that was just a… quirk. Like the dancing. Or that slightly vacant glazed-eye look she had, the same one he'd seen on the face of one too many fanatical templar, when she talked about the Grey Wardens. But she was the leader of the order, she would have to be the most devoted. It was only natural.

And really, at this point he didn't have much of a choice. She might have let him go before, but even if he had, they would have caught up to him again. They always did.

Better than letting the templars hang me, Anders sighed, closing his eyes and choking the foul smelling concoction down.

His first thought was that he had managed to stumble on to the most unpleasant tasting beverage in Thedas.

His second thought was that he had no idea a drink could make him feel like someone had slammed a dagger into his skull and mashed it around.

And after that was when Anders came face to face with the most horrifying thing he had ever seen in his life. Darkspawn, thousands, tens of thousands, millions, numbers beyond counting: stretching out further than he could see. Somehow he knew, just knew, that this wasn't a dream. He was seeing something real, something happening right now, somewhere under the ground. So many, he shuddered. There looked to be more here than the whole population of Ferelden.

None of them seemed to notice him; they were all completely focused on their task. After a moment he realized they were digging. Some part of his mind remained coherent enough to understand what they were looking for. But… the blight just ended… he thought, panic flooding his veins. They're looking already? How could they be looking so quickly!

One, larger than the others, turned and stared at him. With a guttural growl it raised a hand, drawing it across his neck. When the others turned to see what had caught their leader's attention, Anders begin to flail out, trying to run as thousands of pairs of those dead darkspawn eyes looked at him.

Sucking in a deep breath, Anders allowed his eyes to open a crack as he exhaled. The ceiling of the Keep greeted him, carved wooden beams arching across stone and plaster. With a groan he sat up, rubbing his head.

"Welcome, brother." Looking towards the sound, he saw the commander kneeling on the ground not far from his feet. She briefly grinned at him, quite obviously relieved.

"Bad dreams," was all he could say in response.

She nodded sympathetically. "That's normal."

He glanced around. The idealistic girl was gone. "Where's…" Anders suddenly realized he didn't even know her name, and felt horrible for it.

"She didn't make it," the commander said, sounding sad. She handed him some kind of amulet, glass with a drop of sludge at the bottom. Anders was barely able to pay attention as she began rattling off orders. Thankfully none were directed at him. Something about bedrooms, baths, Senior Wardens, food… his head spun. She turned to leave, Anders shuffled after her. The dwarf, he noticed, did the same. He had a look of numb fear on his face.

Something tells me I don't look much different, Anders thought.

Following her through the halls he could only think one thing. They're already searching. Ice in his veins, he realized they would never stop looking. Not as long as any remained alive.

"How can you eat?" he asked as they left the larder, watching her shove what looked like an entire loaf of bread in her mouth.

"Hungry," she muttered, spraying crumbs and giggling at herself. Swallowing she went on. "And I didn't just drink a chalice of darkspawn blood." She had a point there.

The commander went on to tell him something about increased appetites. He didn't know how true that was, but if she continued to pack the food away like that it would probably be a month before she weighed more than the rest of the Wardens… combined. "I think this one is mine," she said, peeking into an open door. After a vague warning about nightmares, she told them to decide who got which room and disappeared, yawning.

"You saw them, too," the dwarf said to him once she had left. He didn't have to explain what he was talking about.

"Yes," Anders nodded. "They were…" he shook his head, still horrified.

"Looking for one of them old gods," the dwarf completed grimly. "I used to wonder, back during the blight, why she and Alistair would scream in their sleep. I think I'm starting to get it."

"Bloody horrifying," Anders said. "I'll admit; I didn't much see the point in risking our lives to join, not before. Now, though…"

A nod, red beard twitching. "My people, we always took the darkspawn seriously." He paused. "I'm no surface dwarf. Well, I guess am now, but I wasn't always. Not until I joined up with her. I've been going on expeditions against them in the deep roads since I was old enough to hold an axe. Outside Orzammar, though… no one else cares. No one but the Wardens."

Anders shrugged. "We… it isn't something people here think about. I mean, during the blight everyone did, of course. Before that, though… I don't think I ever heard them mentioned outside history class."

The dwarf regarded him carefully. "You don't live with them up here like they do in Orzammar. Easy to forget they're out there."

"But they are," Anders said quietly. He was starting to realize why it might be worth the risk to make more Grey Wardens, blight or no.

"I guess that's why they still need Wardens," he mused, apparently having similar thoughts. "So someone up here remembers, passes on what to do. Since now we know that one day…"

"Right," Anders said, sighing. That was what scared him. People had believed for years that the blights were over. Eventually they would believe it again. Now he knew differently. With his own eyes he saw them looking, preparing for the next one. That wasn't the last blight. Someday, there would be another. "How do you think she can live with it? Knowing? I feel like I could scream. It feels like we should go do something." He wrung his hands together anxiously.

"But what?" he said. Anders sighed, he had a point. The three of them, currently the entirety of the Ferelden Grey Wardens, couldn't exactly take on that many darkspawn and expect to live more than thirty seconds into the fight. "Don't let her fool you, either. She's gotten real good at putting on a brave face. Watch the bottom lip. When she starts chewing on it you know she's worried about something." He paused, but clearly had more on his mind. Anders waited. "Don't let all the laughing and cheering and dancing around worry you," the dwarf said quietly. "I thought she was a bit touched when I met her, too." That statement was punctuated by a tap of his fingertip against the side of his head. "Fought side by side for two years with her, though. I don't think you could find a more loyal friend anywhere. Heck of a warrior for a girl in a dress, too. You could do a lot worse for a boss, believe me." He shrugged. "I always figured it was a mage thing, that tower just made all of you a little… whimsical."

"I didn't live there as long as she did," Anders said by way of explanation. It was a relief to know she wasn't completely insane, though.

The two of them picked their rooms- both were identical so it didn't take long to decide. Turning back to the dwarf he searched his fractured memory of the last day. "Goodnight, Oghren," he offered once the name was recovered.

"Night, Sparklefingers," he grunted in response. I'm just going to assume that's a friendly jibe and not an insult, Anders thought, too tired to reply.

He was sitting up drenched in sweat not even an hour after crawling into bed. Although he hoped to get a nice rest after his capture and the horrors of the previous day, that didn't seem possible. Instead of a nice dirty dream, ideally featuring his new commanding officer, Anders was treated to more visions of darkspawn. Shaking slightly, he lay back down and curled his arm around one of the pillows. The rest of the night wasn't much better. The fourth time he woke Anders pulled himself from bed and walked over to the window.

Second floor, he thought automatically, pushing the window open. No bars. On a hill, but the drop off is far enough away it wouldn't be an issue. Survivable fall. Shivering in the nighttime chill, Anders closed and latched the window, reminding himself that if he wanted to leave he could just use the door.

It was nearly a full moon. Smoke rose from the chimneys of scattered houses in the woods and in the distance he could see the light reflected off the Amaranthine Ocean, only distinguishable from the darkened night sky by the spread of stars. He had to admit, it was beautiful. Without knowing why, he began to imagine the trees burning, the land blackened and corrupted, even the very fish in the ocean dead and rotting, floating on the surface of polluted water. Rubbing his eyes, he looked again. The peaceful scene had returned to normal.

Turning his back from the window, Anders sat on his bed.

What have I done? he thought as he put his face in his hands, pushing his sweat-damp hair back. He tried to feel the corruption in his blood, but every diagnostic spell he knew turned up nothing. It was there, though. The nightmares were proof enough. Even if he left tomorrow… this would just follow him. Whatever that poison did to him, there was no getting out of it.

Shivering, he ducked under the blankets, lying back and staring at the ceiling. A memory of his childhood in Gwaren suddenly came back to him. One of the boys had found out what the Grey Wardens were, probably overhearing a bit of gossip, and running through the streets with sticks for swords fighting imaginary darkspawn soon became the hobby of choice among the village children. "I'm a Grey Warden!" he had told his mother. She looked down at him and smiled, which meant it must have been just after the order was allowed to return to Ferelden, when he was eight or so. Not much later and she would have had to look up to speak with him. Of course he was, she had said, since where else would he belong if not among the bravest warriors in Thedas? He had to grin, wondering what she would say if he told her that now. Somehow Anders suspected her response wouldn't be much different. It was certainly more impressive than his life's previous accomplishments thus far, which amounted to setting a record for number of escapes and setting a record for number of times caught in the library after hours with a girl.

Not that waking up repeatedly in a cold sweat was making him feel particularly brave.

But he could fake it. And who knows, maybe eventually he would be able to block out the nightmares.

Maybe I can actually do this, he mused as his eyes drifted closed once more.

Anders woke to the sun in his face. Sitting up, he tried to remember details from his nightmares and found they were already slipping away. Probably for the best, he thought, realizing he really didn't want to focus on the apocalyptic visions that had plagued his dreams.

Grimacing as he pulled on the bloody robes from yesterday, Anders hoped someone in this building could give him something clean to wear. Opening the door, he saw that wouldn't be necessary. Someone had found his belongings the Templars who captured him confiscated. Changing into clean robes from his battered old pack, Anders read the two notes that had been slipped under his door while he slept.

The first, from the housekeeper, said she didn't know whose pack it was, but as the only male mage in residence she guessed him, and if not she hoped the robes would be of use. He snickered to see it addressed 'Ser Mage.' The second was a request to find someone named Maggie in her study. Who was Maggie? She was a woman with exceptionally bad handwriting, that much was clear, and someone important enough to have a study, of all things, but beyond that his mind was blank.

Important enough to have a study… well, that answered that. Shaking his head, Anders laughed. He'd forgotten her name from the Circle days, and was so flustered at having been caught seconds after setting several templars on fire that when she introduced herself yesterday it was almost immediately out of mind. Evidently his boss was named Maggie. Not "Grey Warden Margaret" as he now remembered the papers referring to her, not Warden Commander, not even Ser, just Maggie. Although it seemed slightly bizarre to him, given how serious and formal the ceremony was last night, Anders took it as a good sign. He wasn't sure how long he would last if they expected templar-like discipline out of everyone.

I can do this, Anders told himself, trying to push aside his fear at spending the rest of his life fighting. Taking a few deep breaths he squared his shoulders and went to find her, as ready to start his new life as he would ever be.

* * *

Mutual Friend

"Enchanter Neria?"

She looked up from her book with a sigh. "Yes, Ser Bran?"

"Sorry to disturb you," he offered. "I was asked to bring you a message." He handed her a small piece of folded paper, nodded, and left. Neria groaned as she looked at the seal. Blue wax, bearing two rearing griffons. What does that woman possibly want with me?

Neria-  
I need to speak with you. I realize we've never exactly been friends, but I think you will want to hear what I have to  
say.  
I'm here until tomorrow recruiting for the Wardens, please meet me behind the third floor storage room. I'll wait  
there during dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow.  
-Maggie  
PS- Don't tell anyone!

"Don't tell anyone?" she muttered to herself. It was infuriating. Neria could see why she was picked for the Grey Wardens. Mages focused on battle were rare, and mages focused on battle who wanted to join an order with a reputation for being near-suicidal fanatics even rarer. That they saved her from punishment didn't even bother Neria, since her infraction had been helping their only mutual friend escape being made tranquil. Deep down, she suspected if it was her he had asked she would have done the same.

Neria understood why the Grey Wardens wanted her. What she didn't understand was how naming someone who switched between acting like life was nothing but an unending children's adventure story and acting like life was nothing but a dirty Antivan novel the commander made sense. Knowing that she had become practically synonymous with 'mage' in the minds of most people in Ferelden didn't help. Neria could list a hundred mages that would be a better public example of their kind.

Annoyed, she crumpled the letter and tossed it in her fireplace.

Maggie paced behind the storeroom. Quickly realizing her boots were far louder than the soft Circle-issued ones, which had never been designed for walking outside, she stopped and sat against a wall in the shadows. It was amazing how little the tower had changed in the years since she left. This was still an area few people even knew existed, much less visited. No wonder it smelled a bit... sweaty. Come on, she thought. You don't hate me that much, do you?

Just as she was about to give up there was the sound of soft leather shoes on stone. Maggie watched in silence. Petite, even for an elf. Dark hair, cut short. A very sensible haircut. Yep, it was her. "Figures," she muttered. "Not even here."

"Wait," Maggie called, standing up and stepping out of the shadows. "I'm right here. I was hiding."

Neria sighed. "Hiding?"

"Yes. Hiding. So no one could see me." She nodded as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Maggie briefly wondered if her note didn't stress the secrecy of this meeting enough.

Neria sighed with annoyance. Apparently the responsibilities of command hadn't granted her anything resembling maturity. Everything was still a game to her. "I assume there was a reason you asked me to meet you?"

"You came alone, right? No one followed you?"

"Followed me? Are you mad?"

She shrugged. "Probably. I think anyone with my job would be, though. Now were you followed? Yes or no!"

"No," Neria sighed.

Maggie nodded, looking pleased, and leaned over so she could whisper. "We have a mutual friend among the Grey," she said. When Neria looked at her blankly Maggie sighed. "Let's say… it is not a life of tranquility."

Neria sucked in a breath. "You mean—"

"Yes," she said, cutting her off before she could say his name. "He's married now. His daughter will be four soon."

"He's... all right?"

She nodded, grinning. "He's fine. Got used to the job fast, but I knew he would. It was kind of a last-resort thing for him, but he likes it now. I'm just glad I could do something."

"You're allowed to do that? Even though he's a…"

"Grey Wardens can use any means necessary, we fight things much worse than demons and abominations," she said, sounding very serious. Neria was briefly surprised. Perhaps she had changed. "And the Chantry can kiss my ass." Or not.

"Thank you," she said, feeling an enormous sense of relief. Until then, Neria hadn't even noticed how much worries about him had plagued the back of her mind. "I appreciate you telling me."

"Happy to," she said cheerfully. "He sends his love. Says not to study too hard." Still slightly thrown off by surprise, Neria muttered a response and Maggie cheerfully walked off.

"There you are," called a male voice.

"Here I am!" Neria heard Maggie respond. "Had to deliver a message."

"Work work work," he laughed.

Neria saw her speaking to a tall blonde man, in similar blue robes embroidered with a repeating pattern of griffins. After a moment she recognized him as a mage who spent a good deal of his time away from the tower. When he was in the tower it was in solitary confinement more often than not, since he didn't bother to ask for leave when he went on all those trips. There had been whispers around the tower when he joined the Wardens, stories of dead templars and the Warden Commander jumping in to grab him before the Chantry could seek justice. I guess they will take just about anyone, Neria thought.

Walking back to her office, she felt very grateful for that.


	16. All He Could Want

_Written for BSN. One hour prompt on the topic "Anders as an Origins companion"_

_

* * *

_

**All He Could Want**

Anders shivered, wondering why he thought this would be a good idea. Gherlen's Pass, and his escape from Ferelden, was only a few miles ahead. Unfortunately those miles seemed to be completely vertical, in addition to covered in snow. He had planned to get as far from Ferelden, and his phylactery, as possible. Unfortunately things like boats cost money, money he didn't have. That left only travel by foot. Through Orlais, into the Free Marshes, Antiva, and, if he was very, _very_, lucky, the Tevinter Impreium. Standing in the Frostback Mountains, shivering, the plan seemed far less reasonable than it had when he initially sketched it out one evening in the library.

He had gotten lucky. Only a few weeks out of solitary confinement, Anders had been sitting in the first floor library, reading up on some of the more exotic healing techniques, and trying to determine what spells could be applied… recreationally. He heard a commotion coming from the direction of the front of the tower and, a moment later, a man in an unusual set of armor with an absolutely fantastic haircut ran past him at full speed, followed quickly by every Templar on the first floor. Well, that was all the sign he needed. Book forgotten, Anders bolted deeper into the tower. Past the dorm rooms, he headed into the empty conservatory, and from there the greenhouse for medicinal plants. Slipping behind one of the boxes full of freshly cut elfroot he reached under the glass wall. _There_, a catch and the bottom panel of glass slid to one side. Slipping out, he took a breath, glanced around, and, once he was sure no one had seen him, replaced his means of escape.

Walking around the tower he could hear voices, a man and a woman. The man sounded patient, the woman, well, she sounded utterly terrified. Trying to hide it, and doing a horrible job. Glancing in their direction Anders spotted the man with the great haircut standing near the boat. Not far away a black-haired woman in the yellow robes of a very new mage was getting violently ill on the shore. _Well, I don't think I'll swim from **there**_, he thought, watching her throw up. Must have been her first time outside in Maker knows how many years. He felt a brief flash of sympathy. Once they had both left in the tiny boat Anders dove into the water, swimming first to the ruins of the old bridge, where he pulled himself up and sat on a hidden ledge and then, once night had fallen, the rest of the way to the shore.

That had been months ago. He'd done all he could to earn a bit of gold since then. Healing here and there, mostly. _It would be my luck_, Anders thought, _escaping during a damned **Blight**, of all things_. Of course, as frustrating as it was to constantly be in fear of the darkspawn horde, it was probably the only reason he had been able to stay free for so long. With the entire south being slowly overwhelmed and, from what he knew, the Grey Wardens dead at Ostagar, well… the templars had bigger worries. Like saving their own skins.

He had made it as far as the very outskirts of Orzammar. Stone carvings rose up ahead, indicating the entrance to the dwarves' famed underground city. _I bet it's warm in there_, Anders thought, wondering if he could charm his way inside.

"That is _it_," came an annoyed voice. Anders sank back, hiding in the shadow of a rock. "The next bandit I see is getting killed immediately. I'm not waiting for them to announce that they want to rob me or are after the bounty on us or anything."

"How will you know if it's a bandit?" came an accented voice. Orlesian, if he wasn't mistaken.

"Well, they usually wave weapons at us. That's a good sign," this was a man, young by the sound of it.

"'Tis true, if even Alistair can recognize them, I do not think the rest of us will have any trouble."

"Hey!"

"Well, I just want to kill _something_," the first voice again.

Anders shook his head. They weren't templars, they were _lunatics_. But perhaps they were lunatics with _food_. "Hello?" he called, stepping out of his hiding spot and trying to look as… not bandit like as he could.

"Who's there?" called a male voice.

"Chantry-raised fool," came another voice. "Are you suddenly familiar with the whole of the Ferelden populace? What difference will a name make?"

"Well, if he won't tell us that's a good sign he's got bad intentions."

Anders looked up, they were on a plateau not far from him, arguing. "I don't have _any_ intentions!" he called. "Good _or_ bad. I just… well, I hoped you might have some food."

Two dark haired women seemed to consult each other, gesturing in his direction. With a nod they headed down the slope. As they drew closer Anders realized it wasn't a walking stick in each of their hands, it was a _staff_. As they came closer he began to sense magical shields. One was a basic circle spell, he knew it himself. The other felt strange and unfamiliar. "Knew it!" the shorter of the pair said when they were within a few feet.

The taller woman nodded. "I had no doubts, who else but a mage would be using spells to keep himself warm?"

"Sure, we've got food," the shorter woman said. Waving her hand, the others quickly joined them and began making a small camp. There was a dwarf among them and, to his shock, a qunari as well. Who _were_ these people?

"Another mage?" came the male voice. "What, are you two sending out some kind of secret signal? Can you smell each other? Like dogs?" Anders glanced over, it belonged to a young man in heavy chainmail with a short blonde haircut.

"All right," the shorter mage said. "I'm going to ignore how you just implied we're animals and not people. Mostly since I know you're an _idiot_ and didn't mean any offense." With that, she reached up and ruffled his hair, sending him scurrying several feet away while the mage laughed. "I'll only point out that if I _could_ send out some kind of secret signal to attract male mages… well, why haven't I been doing just that since Ostagar? I'd have an entire parade of them following us right now," she went on, grinning. "One for every day of the week! Or, well, night. Eh, you know what I mean."

"Sadly, I do," the young man said, blushing. He barely listened as they bickered among themselves. When the shorter mage shoved a bowl in his hands he didn't even look up, devouring it immediately. "Woah," the young man said, sounding amused. "You must be hungry."

"Sorry," Anders said, feeling the need to apologize for his absolute lack of table manners. "It's been… um… two days since I've eaten. Three?" He heard a gasp and, seconds later, his bowl was snatched from his hands, quickly refilled and returned.

"You poor dear," said the Orlesian woman.

"I recognize you," the shorter mage said. He looked up at her and managed to suppress a gasp of shock when he met her green eyes. He recognized her as well. She had been famous, or perhaps _infamous_ was more correct, in the tower. Her reputation was… well, it was basically identical to his own, minus the flair for escape attempts. He had accidentally stood her up a couple years earlier, something he'd always regretted. So much that Anders had spent half the morning on the day he escaped trying to convince her best friend to help him get back into her good graces. "Circle, right?" Anders nodded. "Isn't it great to be free of that ****hole?" she went on. "Maker, I never want to go back there."

"You _have_ to go back there," the young man said to her. "We have a treaty with the mages, and I'm not going alone. You know the first enchanter."

"He's mad at me," was all she said before turning away from him. "Anyways. You got out. I'm guessing not with permission. What's your plan?"

He stared at her. She had taken to wearing Tevinter cut robes since leaving the tower, and they were very, _very_ short. "Perhaps he is a mute," the other mage said, snickering. Anders glanced at her. Her hair was just as dark, but where the circle mage was curvy with green eyes, she was lanky with the most remarkable golden eyes he'd ever seen.  
_  
Maker's breath, Anders, they're just girls_, he admonished himself. "Sorry," he said quickly, finding his voice. "It's been a while since I've talked to, well, _anyone_. My plan was to get out of Ferelden, basically. Put as much room between me and my phylactery as I could. I'm heading for Gherlen's Pass."

The redheaded woman shook her head. He turned and looked at her more closely. She had bright blue eyes and wore tight leather armor, a quiver of arrows on her back. **_Another_**_ one? _He thought, looking at her. He'd only seen a handful of girls this pretty in his life. Finding three together on some remote mountain trail, of all places, seemed as unlikely as finding a diamond in a swamp. "The pass is closed," she went on. "Teyrn Loghain has his men crawling all over the area."

"To keep out the Grey Wardens of Orlais," the young man went on. "It's absurd. That bastard quit the field, left _everyone_ to die, and blamed the Wardens. Said it was their plot to kill the king." He made a face. "I don't see how anyone can even believe it. Why would the Grey Wardens hatch any plot that ended in all of them dying as well? Who would do such a thing? No one, that's who!" He shook his head, looking sad. "They're all dead. Every one of them. All but us."

"And Loghain's doing his best to fix that," the shorter mage added. "Ah, still beats that damned tower, though. I mean, I got drunk in Orzammar. How many mages can say that!"

"You threw up all over me in Orzammar," the young man said. "After whining about how dwarven men think your long limbs are freakish."

"Well they do," she said. "Disappointing. I haven't so much as kissed anyone since before the battle!"

"You really want to be with someone you _just_ met? Who you would never even see again?"

She stared at him blankly. "I don't get what the problem is," the mage finally said. "Why wouldn't I? It's just for fun, after all."

"Maker's breath," he muttered before turning his attention on Anders. "So, what will you do now?"

"I'm not really sure," Anders began. "I might try and get a boa—"

"Can you heal?" the gold-eyed mage broke in.

"Pardon?"

"Can you _heal_?" the green-eyed mage repeated.

"Actually, that's my specialty," Anders said. The two women looked at each other and grinned.

"Come with us!"

"What?" the blonde man looked at the shorter mage in horror. "He's an apostate, he ran away from the tower. You just said so yourself!"

"So?" she replied. "Morrigan's an apostate. There's no shame in being an apostate. I may even be one now, since the Wardens are outlawed. That may reverse my being allowed to leave to join them."

"Yeah, but—"

"Yeah but we _need a bloody healer_," she said, her entire demeanor changing. "We will _die_ if we continue like this. I cannot heal, Morrigan cannot heal, and sooner or later one of us will get hurt and we will _die_. We won't find the archdemon, we won't end the blight, we won't avenge the others, and all because we will be _dead_. So what's worse, Alistair: death, or apostates?"

He physically winced against her verbal assault. "All right," the man said, backing down.

"So?" the woman turned back to Anders. What was her name? Peggy? Molly? Mary? Something like that. "Come with us?"

"What about the templars?"

She shrugged. "We'll tell them you're a Grey Warden."

"We can't do that!" the man was horrified.

"I don't see why not," she said. "He can always join after the blight. Who would ever know?" He opened his mouth to argue again, but she cut him off, simply repeating "_healer, Alistair_."

"Fine." Anders got the impression he said that a lot.

"And if the templars give us any trouble we kill them!" she announced cheerfully, to the obvious delight of the other mage. Anders balked. He'd run away dozens of times, but he'd never once actually attempted to _kill_ the templars. And she discussed it like she was saying they would have pudding for dessert. "So, what do you say? No Circle, no Chantry, and you can shoot lightning at all the darkspawn you want. As well as anyone else trying to kill us." He wondered what kind of fool would deliberately attack this well-armed group of obviously deranged individuals. "Oh," she said, almost as an afterthought. "I'm Maggie, this is Alistair, Morrigan, Leliana, the unconscious dwarf is Oghren, and the big quiet one is Sten."

He looked down at his bowl, and then around the fire. "You may call me Anders, my dear lady," he said in his most charming voice. "And I would be _honored_ to join you." She clapped her hands together, obviously thrilled. _Well, they might get me killed_, he thought briefly, glancing around at the group. _But it is better than the tower_.

Freedom, _three_ pretty girls, decent meals, _and_ the right to shoot lightning at fools? What more could he possibly want?


	17. Denial

This one-hour prompt was written for BSN, the topic was "Children."

* * *

**Denial**  
This was their first vacation, well, ever. Sure, they traveled constantly, but Anders hardly considered recruiting, investigating darkspawn, Landsmeets, and the myriad other official functions they had to attend to be vacations. He sat with Alistair, drinking brandy, telling jokes, and wondering if this was how normal members of the nobility acted all the time. The queen was off somewhere with her brother, and through the open windows he could smell the ocean, scant miles from the queen's ancestral home.

Alistair was telling him a story and, from what Anders caught, a rather amusing one at that. Two nobles, neither of whom Anders was particularly fond of, had spent an entire council meeting sniping at each other across the table only to be caught in a closet together several hours later. "And he comes running out, pants around his ankles, saying 'this isn't what it looks like!'"

Maggie was across the room, sitting on the floor. One of Alistair's sons had climbed into her lap, the other was tucked against her side. She looked to be telling them stories. Unable to tear his eyes away, Anders watched the two dark haired boys react to whatever tale she was spinning for them. Eyes wide, they would occasionally clap their hands or laugh. _I wonder if ours would have had dark hair,_ Anders mused, looking at the last bit of sun glint off her black waves.

"You aren't listening to a word I'm saying," Alistair said.

"Huh?" Anders replied, confirming the king's suspicion.

"Riiight," Alistair laughed. "I knew it. If you were you would be _dying_ right now." Anders raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me the idea of him stumbling after me trying to explain, tripping on his pants, and landing on a _very_ sensitive part of his anatomy isn't funny? Come on, who are you, _Wynne_?"

"Who am I?" Anders said, now laughing, since really, it was a hilarious mental image. "Who are _you_? I remember someone who would blush clear to the top of his ears if someone so much as mentioned that people even _have_ sensitive parts of their anatomy around him!"

Alistair chuckled at that. "I think marriage and fatherhood has made me a bit less… nervous about that sort of thing." He dropped his voice and leaned over. "Did you know children have a _naked_ phase? I swear, if you turn your back on them for ten minutes they'll be running through the halls, clothes flying everywhere!"

"But… why?" Anders said, not entirely understanding.

"You think I would know?" Alistair said. "I lived in a barn at their age! Elissa insists it's normal, though. I guess her nephew did the same thing."

"Huh," was all Anders said. He'd never spent much time around children _that_ young, though. Four or five was about the youngest you would find at the Circle, and even children who displayed signs at that young an age, like Maggie and Jowan had, were a rarity.

"Don't worry," Alistair said, misreading Anders' expression. "Even I know she's gotten much better with kids over the last few years. I'm sure she isn't telling them something wildly off color. And, well, if she is… that means I don't have to explain how all that works to them later on."

Anders did chuckle at that. He had expected the king to show up on their doorstep in a decade or so with the princes so he could avoid telling them where babies came from. An hour or two of listening to the crude talk of a bunch of warriors and lunatics would make everything more than clear to them. And, in all likelihood, scar them for life. "No, she's fine," he said. "She's around kids fairly regularly these days. Two of her closest friends have daughters, after all."

"Oh yeah, that's right," Alistair said. "How are the girls?"

"Fantastic," Anders said. "Oghren's daughter is an unholy terror, and Jowan's daughter is her partner in crime. The two of them have managed to burn down a shed, nearly spook a horse to death, and I'm pretty sure they held down Tobias to give him a haircut. That's the only explanation I can think of for why he suddenly shaved his head." Anders chuckled, adding "and this was all in the last month."

"Ouch," Alistair said. "I'm not looking forward to these two getting that old."

"I don't think you have as much to worry about," Anders assured him. "After all, you're not Oghren. Although Jowan insists his daughter is basically Maggie at that age without the frost spells."

"Now _there_ is a disturbing thought,"

"Isn't it?" Anders agreed. "But… like I was saying, she's around kids a lot. Actually takes the both of them into the city once a month or so. They all get dressed up and have tea."

"You're kidding me," Alistair said, shocked. Anders shook his head.

"I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it for myself."

"So… why?" Alistair asked. Anders shrugged. He had suspicions. She claimed it was because the girls never left her alone and promising that kept them off her back long enough that she could work. She was a pretty lousy liar, though. "Whatever the reason, I can't believe Felsi allows it. She thinks Maggie's a bad influence on_ Oghren_."

"She also feels bad for her."

Alistair raised his eyebrows at that. "Feels bad for her? _Why_?" Maggie was right, Anders decided, Alistair could be dense as a brick on occasion. "Oh," Alistair said after a moment, watching her move a hand through the air, laughing as she imitated a dragon.

"Does she _know_?" Alistair asked quietly. "Felsi, I mean. Better question: does _Maggie_ know Oghren's been blabbing Warden secrets?"

"Alistair, we've been together for more than six years. Wardens or not, it doesn't take a genius to figure out if it was going to happen it would have by now. For a while I wondered if it might, if maybe she was wrong about that… but no. I'm a healer, believe me, it is absolutely not possible. Not for her anymore, at least. Probably not for me, either, but that's harder to tell." Alistair gave him a curious look. "Well, once a month most women—"

"Woah, got you," Alistair said. "Understood." He made a face and then, a moment later, changed his expression to concern. "Is… is she all right? I mean, I know there's nothing you can do, but…?"

"Physically? Just fine. From what I know that's normal for any woman who's been a Warden as long as she has. It's been nearly a decade after all." Alistair nodded. "As for the rest… She won't even admit it bothers her," Anders said.

"And you?" Anders sighed, shifting in his chair. Alistair reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "Does she know?"

"No," Anders said quickly. "And that's how it'll stay." He paused. "Well, that isn't quite true. She knows. How could she not? But I deny it."

"Why?" Alistair asked. "Maybe if you talk—"

"_No_," Anders repeated. "I almost did once. You know what she did? She told me I should leave her and find a normal woman. Since she wants me to be _happy_." He made a face. "So no, I'm not bringing that up. Ever again." He shrugged. "Just as well, really. Magic is hereditary, after all, and I think the Grand Cleric would mess her vestments if someone even suggested letting a couple mages take in an orphan. But honestly, do you remember what it was like to be a Warden?"

"I'm still a Warden," Alistair said, sounding defensive.

"You _know_ what I mean. I might not be alive in a month, she might not… We're not even _supposed_ to, anyways. In other countries Wardens have to either leave the order or give up their children, unless they've got someone outside the order to take care of them." He shrugged. "It's not that big a deal."

Whatever Alistair might have said to that was cut short by two toddlers launching themselves at him. "Did you really kill a high dragon?" one asked.

"Two, actually," Alistair said, they both looked suitably impressed. "Which one did you tell them about? Not Flem—"

"Maker's breath, no, I didn't tell them _that_ one." Maggie rolled her eyes at him. Anders couldn't blame her, even she knew a story about killing a shapeshifting abomination wasn't exactly toddler friendly. "I told them about the evil dragon high in the mountains besmirching the prophet's holy name." Alistair looked relieved and excused himself, one child under each arm, as they struggled against being put to bed while there was a chance to wheedle another story out of someone.

"Wonder where his guards are," Anders mused.

"In the hall," Maggie replied. "He can't stand to have them in the room. He wants the boys to grow up as normally as possible, without every move being watched." She sat next to him in silence for an uncomfortable length of time. Anders could tell she was upset, but she was taking such pains to hide it he went along with it. "They've gotten big," she said finally.

"Well, their father is enormous. Maybe they'll take after him."

"Probably," she agreed. Anders looked out the window, eventually he realized Maggie was looking over at him when she said his name quietly.

"Hm?" he replied, turning to face her.

"You really aren't upset that we'll never…" she shrugged, words trailing off.

"Never what?" he said, feigning ignorance. "Have a kid?" She nodded. "Maker, no. Can you even imagine? I'd probably drop it. Or forget it on a battlement somewhere." Before he could stop himself Anders blurted out "why, are you?"

"What?" she said, sounding surprised. "Of course not. I'd be a terrible parent. Probably try and bring it to fight darkspawn or something."

Anders managed a smirk at that and squeezed her hand. Sitting in silence, they watched the sun set outside.


	18. The Cost of a Soul

_This is for the prompt given by Sarah1281 for the Apostates of Amaranthine contest. I'll put the prompt in full at the end, so as not to spoil the surprise. :) _

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Maggie grunted with exertion, swinging her arm around to knock a hurlock across the side of the head with the pommel of one dagger while she focused a spell on a genlock at her side. Once the genlock dropped, still smoking, she spun to face the hurlock, ducking before he could take her head off. The blade came close enough to whip through her hair and she made a squeak of surprise before reaching out, freezing the darkspawn. A kick sent it flying backwards, shattering on impact with the ground.

Looking around, she saw two ogres advancing on Nathaniel. "I'll take left," she screamed as she ran towards him, a dagger in each hand. Freezing both once she was clear of the other Wardens, the commander ran behind the leftmost ogre and jumped , sinking her blade into its back and dangling from it. With a grimace she slammed the other dagger in higher up and swung her weight to one side, removing the first and continuing her slow climb. "Bastard," she muttered, hanging precariously from the massive beast's shoulders, as she attempted to reach around far enough to slit its throat. Several curses passed her lips when it began to stir, shaking off her frost spell.

"Little help here, boss," someone called.

"Kind of busy now, Tobias," she shouted, hanging on as the ogre attempted to dislodge her by spinning. Like a dog chasing its own tail, it seemed to think it could eventually circle fast enough to reach the shrieking Warden hanging from its back. With a shudder she reached further up, stabbing blindly at the ogre's face. Maggie grimaced, casting a spell with her off hand that sent lightning flying into the ogre's back. Since she was also using that hand to hang on, it sent lightning arcing up the length of her arm. After several blind misses, her blade finally found its target, sinking into the darkspawn's eye socket.

"Anyone?" came another shout, this time more panicked.

"On my way!" Jowan shouted. Maggie glanced to one side, seeing a black-topped blue blur rush past her.

Leaping backwards, one dagger still in hand, Maggie jumped from the ogre before it could land on her. She barely managed to step aside before it came crashing to the ground, blood gushing out around her blade still embedded in the eye. The gore-soaked pommel was slick and it took several tries to dislodge it. Sigrun shouted Nathaniel's name, but before anyone could react Anders was darting through the small battlefield, blonde hair flying behind him as the leather tie came free and fell to the ground, deftly managing to avoid both Warden and darkspawn blades. "I'm on it," he called.

Looking around, Maggie saw Tobias and Jowan standing back to back with Alyson as two ogres tried to pin the group in. None of the three seemed to realize an emissary was drawing closer to them, having realized Sigrun wouldn't let him pick off the injured Nathaniel as an easy kill. She continued circling him as Anders worked, axe in one hand and dagger in the other.

Tobias, the most experienced Warden of the three, seemed to sense the new danger a moment later. Alyson was swinging at the ogre, alternating with smashes from her shield to drive it back. Jowan was flipping between the two, attempting to keep them immobilized, or at least slowed, with various hexes and petrifaction spells. "Boss?" Tobias screamed, sinking two blades into the ogre and casting a glance over his shoulder at the approaching emissary.

"On my way," Maggie called, reaching into her pocket. Gulping down the potion as she ran, ice was dancing on her fingertips towards the darkspawn mage before the bottle had even hit the ground. "Alyson, go back up Sigrun," she ordered as soon as one of the ogres fell.

The woman ran over to where the dwarf was trying to fend off three attackers at once. "Nice of you to join us," Tobias said archly, ducking as the ogre reached out to grab him.

"Sorry, had to do my makeup," Maggie replied, attempting to catch the brunt of an emissary's strange spell with her magical shields before it could hit Tobias.

"You know you're on fire," he said.

"Shit," she muttered, patting at the flames. Jowan, snickering, cast an ice spell, extinguishing them.

He laughed, turning his attention back to the ogre. "Letting your own spells double back on you?" Jowan said as he directed a cone of flames at his attacker. "Are we apprentices again?"

"Very funny, Jowan," she said. "How you holding up?" she called over her shoulder after a moment, turning her attention back to the emissary in time to counter his fire spell with ice.

"Been better," Tobias said. "Couple broken ribs. I'll live."

"I'm fine if I stand still," Jowan replied. "I don't think my ankle will actually let me move from this spot, though. Not until I can take a moment and heal it."

"Broken?"

"Nah," he said. "Not even sprained. Just twisted a bit. It's nothing."

"Soon as the ogre's down heal yourself and then Tobias," she said, trying to cast a spell the emissary didn't immediately shrug off like water.

"Will do," he said.

The emissary moved closer and screamed in her face as he cast another spell, in an attempt to intimidate her. She howled back in his before spitting and sinking her dagger between his ribs. "Will you just _die_!" she whined, kicking forward to pull her blade free. Summoning more ice, Maggie was finally able to get a stone spell completed before the emissary defrosted. "Maker's breath," she said, spinning to take on the ogre. Ordering Jowan to get healing, she froze it and managed to knock him to the ground with several conjured boulders. Jumping onto the body, Maggie darted forward, slamming her daggers into each eye up to the hilts. Satisfied the ogre wouldn't be getting up again, she looked at the other Wardens. Tobias and Jowan, back to fighting strength, were rushing to help the others. Anders had healed Nathaniel, but it looked to be just in time for a fresh wave of genlocks and, even worse, shrieks, to charge. Their high pitched cries filled the night.

Joining in, they began to thin the darkspawn's numbers. "Oh goody," Anders muttered. Looking up, Maggie saw two more ogres charging them from the treeline.

"Not just there," Nathaniel called. "Incoming from the north, too." He began firing off arrows, side by side with Tobias. "They're trying to wear us down."

"Oh _shit_," Alyson cursed, smashing her round griffin-emblazoned shield into a genlock to give her a moment to point. Following her gaze Maggie echoed the curse. They were actually being ambushed on _three_ sides; another group of hurlocks sprung from the earth not far from where they fought.

"Lyrium?"

"Out," Anders said.

"Same," replied Jowan.

Maggie tried to wipe the sweat and blood from her forehead. Since her hands were no less filthy the attempt was less than successful. Glancing at the ogres she shouted "Jowan, with me," and took off at a run between both groups.

"You know I hate doing this," he said as they ran.

"Would you rather see someone die?" she snapped. "Please don't make me order you."

Jowan sighed, his face a mask of resignation, but she couldn't see in the darkness. "No, you're right," he said after a second, pulling a knife from his belt and whistling to attract the ogre's attention. They were naturally going to attack what looked like the weakest target. Two wardens separated from the bulk of their force would be the most attractive prospect for them.

Maggie went one better, shrieking while jumping up and down. "Come on," she screamed. "Over here. Come on come on come on!" When the enormous beasts changed course she grabbed her dagger and swiftly cut through the skin of her hand. Focused on the spell, she couldn't even look over to make sure Jowan's targets were equally drawn to their target. Just before the ogres were close enough to grab her Maggie thrust both arms forward. With a final cry the red tinged cloud swirling around her snaked up her body and towards her hands, launching at the darkspawn.

The result was almost instantaneous. Both ogres froze, howling in pain as they shook. Heat radiated from their bodies, the result of being boiled alive. Their organs were beginning to liquefy within them and, after an almost painful length of time, blood began to pour from ears, eyes, and their still-howling mouths. Seconds later both fell to the ground.

A loud thud and brief shake of the ground told her Jowan's targets had met their fate. Both mages turned back to see the rest of the Wardens hiking towards them.

"Status?" she called.

"Everything's dead," Nathaniel replied. "No major injuries."

"Well, not _anymore_," Anders said, smirking as he walked over to her. "Hand," he demanded. She held it out automatically, palm up. Her arm was bathed in pale blue light as Anders cast a healing spell. Once the skin had stitched together he paused, kissing her palm before relinquishing his grip. "How are you feeling?"

"Exhausted," she said.

"Jowan?" he asked.

"Same," came the reply, actually punctuated with a yawn. "I hate that spell."

"Well, it bought us the time to get rid of the rest," Nathaniel said pragmatically. "I hate a lot of what we do." He shrugged and began dragging one of the ogres to the main pile of darkspawn bodies.

Alyson froze, staring at the mages. "Are you all right?" Maggie asked her. She was new, and this was the largest group of darkspawn she had ever faced. "I know taking on this many at once is overwhelming at first. Well, it's always a little overwhelming, but it does get better."

"I'm fine," she said slowly. "What… what did you two do to kill those ogres?"

Jowan sighed. "The actual name for the spell is _ebulliéntur_. It's Tevinter, for 'they will boil.' They're not much for subtlety or creative naming in the Imperium."

She made a face. "I don't mean the _name_ of the _spell_," she snapped.

"Well I don't think you really had to ask, then, did you?" he said in a similar tone.

"Jowan…" Maggie said, caution in her voice.

He grumbled, throwing up his hands and walking over towards the others. "Told you I hate that damned spell," she could hear him mutter under his breath.

Alyson stared at her in horror. "I saw you: you cut yourself! Both of you did!"

"We did," Maggie said without pause. "When you joined us I told you Wardens use any means necessary to defeat the darkspawn. Those weren't just _words_."

"But… that's _illegal_," she said. "It's… it's... Maker's breath… _blood magic? _ I can't even _think_ of anything worse!"

"Darkspawn are worse," Maggie said. "I know it's scary, especially with what the Chantry tells people, but know that _none_ of the mages who use these spells would ever use any blood besides their own, and none would ever even contemplate controlling a mind. I'd cut them down myself if they tried. I want power against the _darkspawn_, nothing more."

"Mages?" she said. "You mean… it's not just the two of you? Are all the mages m—maleficar?" She stuttered on the word, horror clear on her face.

"Not all," Maggie said. "Less than half."

"Less than…" she trailed off, hand to her mouth. "Lady of Mercy… I… I feel sick."

"It's not as big a deal as you think," Tobias interjected. Jowan had returned, the others not far behind him. "I mean, it's not like they wander the Keep cackling and kidnapping babies. Every time I've seen any of them use blood magic it's when we were in a really tight spot."

"You _knew_?" she said to him. "You _all_ knew?"

"Well, yeah," Tobias said, sounding indifferent. "Kind of hard not to notice, you know?" He shrugged. "I was kind of upset at first, you know, finding out one of my heroes was a maleficar. First big fight we were in once I learned I figured out that one didn't really cancel out the other."

Maggie blushed hearing that. "I'm one of your heroes?" she asked, sounding shocked.

"Maker's ass, boss," he said, laughing, "it sure wasn't the fantastic retirement package that inspired me to become a Grey Warden." Jowan snickered at that and quickly put his hand over his mouth. "Anyways, she's still the person who did all that amazing stuff the bards sing about. It just happens that she used blood magic to get most of that done. And really, I'll take 'no blight' over 'no blood magic' any day of the week."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," Alyson said. "Are you all _mad_? This isn't using poison on a blade, this is _blood magic_. How can you be all right with this?"

"Any means necessary," Tobias said. The others nodded.

She stepped back from them. "And she's teaching it to others?" Alyson asked, looking at Jowan.

"Actually, I taught it to her," Jowan said.

"Well, I did teach it to a few people since then," Maggie clarified. "All Wardens."

"I just can't accept this," Alyson finally said. "This is disgusting. People look up to you! There's a bloody statue of you in Denerim! My _sister_ named her daughter after you!"

"You don't really have a choice," Maggie replied coldly. "You're a Grey Warden now. I could offer to transfer you outside Ferelden, but frankly, more than half the mages in _every_ branch of the Wardens use blood magic. We use _any means necessary_, not any means necessary so long as they meet Chantry approval. There is _nothing_ more evil in this world than darkspawn; I refuse to believe I should cripple myself in the fight against them because of what some priest says."

Maggie glanced over Alyson's shoulder at Nathaniel. As she watched he wet a rag with something from a tiny bottle, wiping it over a blade. She shook her head. He gave her a pointed glance.

"No," Alyson said finally. "I can't do this. I wanted to fight darkspawn, not… _damn_ myself for associating with maleficar." She stood up straight. "People deserve the truth, they need to know what the Grey Wardens _really_ are," she said. "People whisper that you harbor maleficar but I never believed it. I didn't think anyone could be so… so _evil_ to allow blood mages among their ranks. People need to _know_."

Maggie stepped closer, giving Nathaniel another sharp glance. "What are you saying?" she asked.

Alyson used the advantage of her height to glare down at the Warden Commander. "I'm saying… that I'm done. I'm not a Grey Warden. I won't count myself among people like the lot of you, and I'm going to the first Chantry I see to tell them everything. I have my soul to worry about!"

Maggie sighed, closing her eyes. "There's nothing I can do to change your mind?"

"No."

Maggie nodded and Alyson drew a sharp breath, stumbling back several paces. Looking down, she saw blood seeping out from a joint in her armor. Maggie was re-sheathing one of her daggers. Alyson had been so concerned about trying to intimidate the shorter woman that she hadn't seen her drawing the blade. "I'm sorry," Maggie said, voice cracking. "The Grey Wardens are more important than one person's soul."

Alyson dropped to her knees and fell forward without another word. Anders bent down and checked her wrist, his face grim. He stood back up without a word, stepping away from the corpse.

"She died honorably in battle," Maggie said, wiping her eyes. Everyone nodded.

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_The full prompt was: Maggie recruits someone who survives the Joining but cannot accept her blood mage status and the fact that she's harboring several other blood mages. Said recruit announce their intention to go to the Chantry with this information and it's clear that they won't back down._

_Thanks so much to everyone for reviewing! I still can't believe AOA's passed 1000! I'll probably do another contest for the 100th chapter, so keep an eye out!_


	19. I Never Take if Off

_When Anders joins your party he's wearing an amulet called The Fox's Pendant. The description given in game is "After Anders first escaped from the Circle Tower, he saved the life of Bann Ferrenly. This enchanted amulet was a reward for Anders's service and friendship." This pendant was the prompt for the BSN Anders thread this week._**

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I Never Take it Off

"Did… did I do something wrong there?" Anders asked, looking over at Maggie.

"Huh?" she rolled to her side, pushing sweat-damp hair back and propping herself up on one elbow. "What are you talking about, of course not. Why would you think so?"

He pulled the blankets up. "You looked, um… _annoyed_ for a bit."

"I did?" she raised an eyebrow. "Hm… _annoyed _isn't how I felt. When did I look annoyed?"

Anders pushed his hair back, wishing he'd never even brought the question up. He'd apparently been imagining the entire thing. But now she would demand details, since that was what she _did_, and while Anders wasn't normally one to shy away from discussing sex, that didn't extend to discussing what he may or may not have done wrong.

A poke in the shoulder. "Come on, Anders… tell me. I feel bad now, I didn't mean to look _annoyed_. I wasn't_ feeling_ annoyed." That statement was accompanied by a lascivious grin and a hand trailing across his bare chest. As her hand slipped further down he pulled Maggie closer. She giggled, whispering "tellllll meeeeee" as he kissed her throat.

"You're wicked."

"So I've been told," she said. "After you tell me we can figure out how true that is." Another crooked grin and she sat up. The blankets pooled around her waist. Faced with that much bare skin his brain clouded over.

"Huh?" Anders mumbled, reaching out.

"When did I look annoyed?" she giggled as his hand reached across the bed.

"Huh? Oh… when I was on top," he muttered absentmindedly, hand brushing against her skin.

"Ohhhh, right…." she muttered, looking thoughtful.

Anders shook his head, brushing off the nudity-induced idiocy that had briefly consumed him. "Oh right?" he said, sitting up. "_Oh right? _So you _were_ annoyed? Why? What did I do?"

"Well, a little," she admitted. "It wasn't anything you did, really. More what you didn't do."

"Didn't… What do you mean?" he said. "I was down there for—"

She giggled, cutting him off. "Maker's breath, not that. That was fine. That was_ fantastic_."

"Good," he said, clearly relieved. "What didn't I do?"

Maggie reached out, grabbing the cord around his neck. "You didn't take your amulet off. It was hitting me in the face!"

Anders sighed with relief. "Is that all?"

"Yep."

"I never take that off."

"_I know_," she said. "And it always hits me in the face."

"Sorry," Anders said.

She shook her head, grinning. "I notice you didn't say you would next time… or move to take it off since next time is, um, right about now."

"I never take this off," Anders said again, hand wrapped protectively around the amulet as though he was worried she would lunge across the bed and yank it from his neck. Not that he was worried about her actually doing that… well he wasn't too worried.

"Why not?" she asked. "Who gave it to you?" Her eyes narrowed. "Was it some woman?"

"Andraste's sword," he sighed. "No, it wasn't a woman. _Really_? You think I'd be wearing onto some gift from an old flame?"

"Well what is it then?"

"Bann Ferrenly gave it to me," Anders said.

"You know Bann Ferrenly?" she said. "I barely even know him; he's only been to one landsmeet in the last five years. Alistair says he's a recluse."

"He is," Anders agreed. She gestured for him to go on. "Well," Anders said, "this would be maybe… hm… fifteen years ago, just after my Harrowing. I'd escaped…"

She giggled at that. "And the sky was up, the ground was down, and water was wet?"

"Pretty much," Anders chuckled. "Anyways. I'd escaped and was making my way to Denerim. Hoped to catch a ship to Tevinter." He paused, thinking back. It had been in Highever, or not far from there, along the north road. "There was a coach under attack by bandits and the guard was already dead. I heard someone shouting in pain and ran at them. Managed to take out the bandits- really, they weren't a very big group. If the coach had more than one mounted guard they wouldn't have even needed me. Once they were down I ripped the door open. Inside was an old man bleeding from a sword wound. He came at me with a dagger." Anders chuckled, shaking his head. "I knocked it from his hand and told him not to be a fool. Looking back, he probably still thought I was one of the bandits, but he went still enough I could heal him."

"Bann Ferrenly?" she said.

"Bann Ferrenly," he confirmed. "So, once he realized I was just passing by and stopped to help he calmed down. Seeing I was in a pretty sorry state- I don't think I'd even eaten for a couple days, he gave me some coin and his guard's horse. Even had the coach driver give me a basic riding lesson right there on the road near all the dead bandits."

"And the amulet?"

Anders nodded. "He said it had been in his family for generations, since before the occupation. _The Fox's Pendant_, he called it."

"Why's it called that?" she asked, reaching out. Anders let her touch the silver-colored disk. There was a single sapphire embedded in the middle, and a few scratches from age on it, but nothing that would indicate any fox-like design motifs now worn off.

He shrugged. "No idea. Ferrenly said something about the original owner making it to remind himself that he had to be clever above all other things, since someone would always be plotting against him."

Maggie made a face at that. "What a horrible way to live," she said. "No wonder he almost never leaves his estate."

"Oh, I agree," Anders said.

"So why wear it?"

"Two reasons," Anders said. "The first is so I _don't_ become like that. Since that attitude had him attack me with a dagger. If he'd been faster, or I'd been slower, Bann Ferrenly would have stabbed me to death and bled out alone on the North Road, when all I wanted was to help."

"And the other?"

Anders smiled at that, fingering the silver charm. "Because he trusted me."

"He tried to stab you!"

"_After _that. I mean once I healed him he trusted me. He knew I was a mage and… and he didn't _care_. Didn't ask if I was Circle or apostate, didn't even say the word 'mage' once. It mattered about as much to him as the color of my eyes." He leaned back against the headboard, smiling. "He was the first person I'd ever met, save my own mother, who didn't care that I was a mage. It made me think maybe I wasn't destined to be universally loathed. That there was more to it than what the Circle told us about how everyone hated mages, about how they protect us from ignorant people who would kill us in fear. Even my mother told me no one would ever accept or understand it. But Bann Ferrenly accepted it without a moment's hesitation."

"Have you talked to him since then?"

"I wrote, once," Anders said, "maybe two weeks after I became a Warden. Told him about that and let him know I still remembered all he'd done for me. I tried to explain why it meant so much."

"Did he reply?"

"No," Anders said. "I was a bit hurt at first. It had been such an important moment in my life, and he'd forgotten me completely. But now… knowing more about him…" he shrugged slightly. "He's got problems. He's trapped in his own paranoia. I can't blame him."

She smiled at him, this time it was her normal smile, almost disturbingly innocent given how much he knew about her. "That's still a sweet story."

"Isn't it?" he smirked at her, folding his arms casually. "Women just love it. Completely makes up for the amulet hitting them in the face."

"Ha!" she laughed, elbowing him. "Very cute. You know, you could just shorten the cord."

Anders paused, considering that. Without a word he reached up, spinning the cord and tying a new knot in the leather, shortening it by several inches. "Happy?" she nodded. "For years this was the only thing I never took off. I've got a ring I leave on now, too, but you wouldn't want to hear about that. A woman gave it to me."

She laughed at that, grabbing his left hand and kissing the palm. "Charming as always," Maggie said, giving him another smile, this one lacking even a hint of innocence. "Now let's do that again without a chunk of silver hitting me in the face this time, hmmm?"


	20. First Day

_Holiday themed prompt written for .peopleofthedas. dreamwidth. org. Still trapped out of town. In theory I may be flying home tonight. I'll believe it when it happens. Will have multiple hours of airport downtime to use for catching up on replying to people. Maybe have a new chapter, too. _

* * *

**First Day, 31 Dragon **

Maggie shivered, hunched near the fire.

"You know it's First Day," Alistair said.

"Huh," was all Maggie said in reply.

"When I was a boy in the monastery we would always have a big party on First Day," he went on, eyes taking on an almost nostalgic look. "We'd get drinking chocolate, and a big meal, and no chores. And all the young boys would get a present- some kind of toy, usually. It was the best day of the year."

"In Orlais there were great banquets," Leliana contributed. "Right after the midnight Chantry service. And children leave their shoes by the hearth, so when they wake they're filled with sweets."

"Musicians play in Antiva," Zevran added. "We feast on figs, dates, and honey that have been baked into cakes and cookies. Children wake hoping _La Befana_, the old woman, has left them a present if they were good, instead of coal if they were bad."

They turned to look at Maggie. She shrugged. "They cancel classes for the day," she said.

"That's it?"

"We get real lemon for our tea in the morning, and chocolate which I've since discovered isn't a very good example of chocolate. It was always kind of… gritty."

"Why do I even ask," Alistair mused.

"Because it reassures you that you wouldn't have wanted to be a templar," she replied with a confident nod.

"That_ must_ be it," he said. "Well, thank you for not telling me the stories of all the fun times in the Circle to make me doubt my decision."

She grinned, raising her mug of weak coffee. "Happy to help."

"Happy First Day, mage," he said, grinning as snow fell on the group.

"You too, templar," came the response, accompanied by a snowball hitting Alistair squarely in the nose.

**First Day, 32 Dragon**

"You must talk with him eventually!" Zevran paced the floor.

"No," she said stubbornly. "He hates me. He'll never forgive me for sparing Loghain. Maybe I shouldn't have."

"Oh, so you could die instead? Or him? Brilliant plan, that one."

She jumped from her chair, the heels of her fancy new boots clicking on the polished floors. "What do you want me to do, Zev? Tie him down and make him listen to me? He's the bloody king, I can't even get within fifty feet of him without an appointment!"

"He's your best friend!"

She turned to the window, looking out at the ravaged city now blanketed by snow. "Not anymore."

**First day 33 Dragon**

"You all right?" Alistair asked, looking across the table.

"Fine." Maggie's voice was unusually quiet, eyes rimmed with red. She gulped down what might have been her fifth glass of wine.

"You're a lousy liar," he said. "Come on, try and cheer up. I know you miss him, but this is the last First Day we'll spend together."

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm moving to Amaranthine, not the moon, Alistair. I'm sure we'll still see each other."

"Ah, you'll be the big important Warden Commander. No time for your old friends."

That made her grin, finally, and Alistair sagged with relief. "Says the king!" she laughed, throwing a chunk of bread across the table. One of the guards made a noise of horror, followed by a sound of choking as he tried to resist bursting into laughter when the king responded by using his spoon to catapult potatoes towards the mage. Crumbs sprinkled down on the pair, giving the dining room a white blanket to match the grounds visible through the window.

**First Day, 36 Dragon**

Anders ran over to Maggie and grabbed her by the waist, swinging her around. "Thank you!" he exclaimed. "These are the _best_ boots I've ever seen!" His feet were encased with the glossy blue-black of dragonwing. She laughed and kissed him.

Nathaniel and Sigrun walked into the main hall, still brushing snow from their shoulders, just in time to hear Oghren shout from the dining hall. "Come on, you nughumpers! Time to eat!"

**First Day, 44 Dragon**

"Presents! Presents!" Oghren doubled over with laughter as his daughter attempted to scale the Warden Commander while she held a box above her head. The girl had almost managed to knock her down when Anders reached over and rescued the box, elevating it another foot in the air. "No fair!" she cried. "Hold it at dwarf height!"

"What did I tell you about the tall folks?" Oghren said.

"Higher center of gravity!" she announced before barreling forward, knocking a surprised Anders flat on his back and rescuing the box.

Sitting up, he brushed white powder from the fur at his shoulders. "I should have expected that."

"You should have," Maggie agreed.

**First Day, 57 Dragon**

Anders laughed, catching Maggie as she slipped on the ice. "Watch out, you'll break a hip!"

"You are so dead," she said, wagging a finger at him. "You're five years older than me!"

Alistair walked over, face ruddy from the cold and grey streaking his beard. "Is this guy giving you a hard time?" he asked.

"Isn't he always?" Maggie said, pushing a lock of salt and pepper hair behind her ear.

"I'm glad you came." Alistair's voice was unusually quiet as they sat in the royal box. Below them the First Day jousts went on as usual. "This… this is probably my last First Day."

Her head snapped up. Eyes wide, she looked over at him. "You mean…?"

Alistair nodded. "It's time."

She was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry," Maggie finally managed, wiping her eye and squeezing his hand.

"It's all right," Alistair said. "I'm ready. I'm…" he shrugged. "I don't know, I'm _tired._ I feel like I'm done." He glanced over. "You?"

"Not yet," she said quietly before turning to look at Anders. "I suspect… but he hasn't said anything yet." She glanced over at Anders who was watching the jousters, cheering as Prince Duncan knocked his opponent from his horse.

"Already?"

"He was thirty when… that's too old, really. I didn't know it then, but it gives you less time."

"If he does, will you?"

"You have to ask?"

Alistair glanced over at her. "No, I don't." Leaning back in his chair he smiled suddenly. "Remember that First Day during the blight… you didn't even know people gave gifts?"

"We didn't even have enough food to make a proper meal, much less a feast!"

"Things have sure changed," he mused.

"Some things," she said.

"Some things," he agreed. "Happy First Day, mage."

"You too, templar."


	21. I don't want to kill you but I will

_Prompt written for BSN. The theme was "blood magic."  
_

* * *

**I don't want to kill you but I will**

"We need to talk."

Anders looked up from his book. He was sitting in the main hall, curled up on a fur tossed on the floor near the largest fireplace. Jowan stood over him, the firelight glinting off the buckles of his robes and an anxious expression plastered on his face. "Is something wrong?" Anders asked him.

"Yes," Jowan said, followed quickly by "no." He briefly tensed and looked like he was about to bolt from the room. "I… look, just come with me, all right?"

Sighing, Anders unfolded his legs from below himself and stood up. "All right," he said, wondering what had Maggie's best friend so clearly upset. He followed Jowan through the hall, eventually stopping in the dimly lit yard of the Keep, not far from the statue of Andraste. Anders was pleased to notice that the char marks from the attack by the Mother's forces were finally starting to wear off. "What's wrong?" he asked the other mage.

Jowan wrung his hands, looking down. "So," he began, "I was talking to Nathaniel not long ago. And he mentioned that you, um, went shopping while you were in Denerim. For, um, a _ring_." The way he stressed the final word left no doubt that Nathaniel had been slightly more specific than Jowan was being at the moment.

Anders narrowed his eyes. "And people think _I'm_ a gossip?" he snapped. "Little Nate is a dead man, and I'm making sure that's what they call him on his tombstone." Sighing, he pushed his hair back. "Don't tell her. _Please,_" Anders said. "I haven't figured out how I'm going to—"

"I wasn't planning on it," Jowan said drily before Anders could finish. "I figured it wasn't exactly public knowledge."

Anders was momentarily relieved. "So…" he said after a moment. "What's wrong?" Jowan was silent for a moment, struggling for words. Anders grimaced. "Andraste's bloody rags," he muttered. "It's true, isn't it? You _have_ been carrying a torch for her all these years!"

"_What!" _Jowan said, shocked. "Are you _insane_? Of course it's not true. Even if I wasn't happily married, which I _am_, why in the name of Andraste would I have tried to escape the Circle with _Lily_ if I was in love with _Maggie_? And why would I have asked _Maggie_ to help us? Even _I'm_ not that stupid!" Anders relaxed. Jowan made a good point.

"Well, something's clearly bothering you," he countered. "What? You don't think I'm good enough?" Jowan didn't say anything. Anders winced. "I see," he said coldly.

Jowan bit his lip. "It's not… it's not like that," he said. "Just… do you really believe all her talk about how the Chant doesn't mention any specific _kind_ of magic and that she's fine because it's only against darkspawn and not people?"

"Not really," Anders admitted, not seeing the point. Maggie could talk circles around most people, especially when it came to defending her decision to become a maleficar. Most of it was just that, though: talk. It was clearly something that bothered her much more than she admitted; otherwise she wouldn't spend so much time trying to justify it.

"Huh," was all Jowan said. "You know, I always figured you did."

"I'm not an idiot," Anders snapped.

"And yet despite knowing the woman you claim to love has been sincerely worried she's actually _damned_ for years you continued to rub the Chantry's views on blood magic in her face?" Jowan raised an eyebrow, clearly feeling much bolder than he had been a moment earlier. "So you're not an idiot, you're just an _asshole_?"

"Hey!" Anders snapped.

"You've made her cry, you know," was all Jowan said. "Alistair was a _templar_ and he never drove her to tears over this. Zevran never even cared. You thrive on chances to put her down for it, though."

Opening his mouth and then closing it before saying a word, Anders stared at the other mage. With a sigh he looked down. "All right," he admitted, "maybe I have been a bit of an asshole."

"Maybe?"

"Fine," Anders snapped. "You're right. What do you want me to say? It was a lousy thing to do." Looking up at Jowan he struggled for an explanation. "Sometimes I just talk without thinking, it just… slips out. It isn't easy to remember she's a… a…"

"_Maleficar_," Jowan said pointedly. "Don't mince words now, you never have with her. She's a maleficar. A blood mage. Call it what it is."

"All right," Anders said. "But it makes no damned sense. She's so… Maker's breath, she's so bloody _perfect_. She's nice to everyone, she's funny, she's generous, she lives to help people… someone like that doesn't become a blood mage! It's so hard to reconcile the two in my mind so, well, I just prefer to pretend she isn't."

Jowan actually laughed.

"What?" Anders said. "What's so damned funny?"

"You really must love her," Jowan said. "Maggie? _Perfect? _You're kidding me, right?"

"No," Anders said, now on the offensive. "Why, what's wrong with her? She risked her neck to save your life, what, twice? Three times? I can't even keep track anymore!"

"And I can never thank her enough for it," Jowan said. "Doesn't make her perfect." Anders glared at him. "Really? Putting aside the violent hair-trigger temper, her tendency towards fanatical jealousy which you seem to share, the cursing and the drinking, and her complete inability to see flaws in her friends, she's also a bit, well… crazy."

"She is not!"

Jowan only raised an eyebrow. "Well then… all right. That isn't the point, anyways."

"And the point is?"

"You need to get your head out of the sand since you're hurting her. Either accept that using one kind of magic isn't enough to make someone a bad person or…"

"Or?" Anders pressed.

"Or decide if you really should be with someone who you see as evil. Since she deserves better than a man who looks down on her."

"I don't look down on her!" he snapped defensively.

"Then quit acting like you do!" Jowan's eyes practically spit blue fire. Anders would normally have been happy to see him defending Maggie so passionately, if only he wasn't the target of the softspoken man's rage. "Since it seems pretty damn clear to me that funny, nice people who like to help others _do_ become maleficar, seeing as how you sleep next to one of them every night!"

Anders looked at his feet, unsure of how to respond.

Jowan sighed. "Look, I know you didn't set out to hurt her or anything. But you did, so, well… stop that. Don't want to kill you but I will and all that…" he shrugged.

"Very funny."

"Wasn't really kidding," Jowan said. "I've never had a family; since I was six years old she's been the closest thing I've had to a family. You really think I'll sit on my hands if she keeps showing up at my door in tears?" Anders nodded, remembering that Jowan was the one who taught her blood magic in the first place and, despite the impression everyone had of him, was an utter terror in a fight. "I never wanted to teach her," he said after a moment in a much softer voice, as if reading Anders' thoughts. "She demanded. It was in Redcliffe, when she saved me from the dungeon."

"She told me," he said. "When I asked how she learned she gave me the whole story."

"Well I'm sure Maggie wanted to make sure you knew she wasn't consorting with demons," Jowan said sensibly. "I argued with her. I…" he sighed. "I've always regretted learning. It's my greatest mistake. I'm always wondering if there's a greater price I'll have to pay eventually. I told her all that, but you know Maggie…"

"So why would she even want to learn?" Anders asked. "If the only blood mage she knew was telling her it was a mistake why would she possibly think it was a good idea? It sounds like a _horrible _idea."

"Because she was scared," Jowan said. "She was a mess. Broken bones she couldn't heal from getting pounded on by the darkspawn, a good twenty pounds lighter than she'd been in the Circle since they couldn't afford food and she had no idea being a Grey Warden meant she _needed_ to eat more, and being followed around by half a dozen people who expected her to make every decision for them. She'd never even been _outside_ for eighteen years. Imagine how terrified she was, and none of them had any idea." He shook his head. "She thought they would die before even seeing the archdemon. Probably right, too." He looked over at Anders. "So when she demanded… I taught her. She said she needed every bit of power she could find to keep them alive, and I knew she was right."

"Well, I'm feeling fairly ashamed," Anders said.

"Ah, then my work here is done," Jowan said with a smile. Anders clearly had something else on his mind, though, if the look on his face was any indication. "What's wrong?" Jowan asked.

"Besides the fact that you just told me I'm not good enough to marry your best friend and that I've been making the woman I love cry without even realizing it?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry, I had to say something," Jowan said, actually sounding apologetic.

"No, I understand. I'm glad you did." He sighed. "It isn't easy being with her sometimes. Even if she wasn't more powerful than me I'd still have to deal with the legend, the titles, the whole hero thing… and she has no damned idea it even bothers me. And I'm not about to say something since really, what could she do? Go back and _not_ end a blight? Step down as commander, relinquish the title, stop being a good mage? It's silly. But… there are days I feel like shoving that in her face is the only way I can measure up."

"I know how you feel."

"Do you?" Anders looked surprised.

"Imagine sitting in _class_ next to her. Watching her get moved ahead or given advanced lessons months or years before you…" He gave Anders a sheepish glance, holding up one palm. "Why do you think _I _learned?" Anders eyes went wide.

"Does she know?"

Jowan nodded. "She asked me why. I couldn't _not_ tell her. She'd know if I lied." He shrugged. "I used to make fun of her healing. It was the only thing she wasn't better than everyone else at."

"Now _there's_ a thought…" Anders said.

* * *

Anders found Maggie curled up in bed, reading a book. He couldn't help but notice how she shifted, covering the front with her open palm, letting her hair drape over a shoulder to block his view of the page. "Anything good?" he asked, stripping off his robes.

"New magic book," she said. "Commander Augustus from Tevinter sent it to me. Nothing interesting."

Sliding in next to her he caught a brief glimpse of the page she was on before Maggie quickly closed it, sliding the heavy volume under the bed and out of his line of sight. He bit back the comments that flashed through his mind.

_Every book on blood magic in Ferelden isn't enough, now you're importing them?_

_What, you don't already have enough fun ways to slice yourself open?_

_Oh good, the self inflicted injuries you already know how to make were getting boring for me to heal. _

_Now I can watch you kill yourself with newer, more exciting, spells. Thanks, sweetheart. The old spells were getting a bit repetitive._

_So why don't you regale me with how **these** spells are actually just fine according to the Chant and it's the Chantry that's wrong?_

_For someone who claims it's a last-ditch measure you sure spend a lot of time learning a forbidden spell for every occasion._

"I was thinking," Anders said. He couldn't help but notice her tense next to him and felt another flash of guilt. "Maybe you should start taking my remedial healing class with the junior Warden mages?"


	22. Old Friend

_Prompt written for the BSN Anders thread. The theme was "tranquil."_

* * *

**Old Friend**

"All right," Maggie said, looking over her list. "We need arrows, crossbow bolts, five whetstones, two lockpick kits, and a couple gallons of concentrator agent. Oh, and some bottles." Everyone nodded. "Tobias, you go hunt down arrows, Roland you get the bolts and whetstones, Rose you look for the lockpick kits, and Anders you get the concentrator agent and bottles."

Anders groaned audibly.

"Must I?" he said.

"Yes," she replied. "You know herbalism, you'll know if they try to pull a fast one on you."

"You know herbalism, too," he said, almost pouting.

"I do," she agreed. "But I'm getting my robes fitted at the seamstress, I'll need to be there for that."

"Your robes fit fine," he said.

"These do," she said. "The four sets in my bag don't."

"I really don't want to go to the Circle store," Anders said. "Can't we—"

"Look," Maggie said, grabbing him by the collar. "I'm not exactly _happy_ that half my robes won't fit across my ass anymore. Are you _trying_ to make this day any worse?"

Anders nodded and she dropped her grip on him. "Right, concentrator agent," he said.

She made a face and stormed off across the city. Anders watched her walk away, attempting to determine if she was any noticeably bigger. When he couldn't tell he continued to watch because, well, why not.

Tobias laughed. "You know she'd kill you if she caught you checking to see if she was getting fat."

"Believe me, that wasn't even _close _to what I was thinking," Anders said, stealing a final glance. "That's one of my favorite parts. Probably in the top five. Higher if I don't list each leg separately."

"You have a preferred _leg_?"

"The left one," he said decisively.

"All right, forgetting for a moment that she's my boss, I just have to ask… _why_?"

Anders chuckled. "Because I'm right handed," he said.

Tobias looked at him blankly for a moment before snickering. "I can't argue with that logic," he agreed.

"Any chance I can convince you to get the conce—"

"Yeah, no," Tobias said. "Remember, she's my boss? The angry woman who can kill with her mind? She says get arrows, I get arrows. If she gets mad at _me_ I can't buy her presents until she's happy again like you do. Or _you'll_ kill me with your mind."

Anders sighed, chewing on his nails.

"Maker's breath, what's so bad about concentrator agent?"

"It's not _that_," Anders said. "It's the Circle shop. I just…" Anders trailed off, looking in that direction and making a face.

Tobias sighed, realizing that was about as much information as he'd get out of the mage. "Well, come on," he said.

"Huh?"

"The guy with the best arrows is right by the Circle shop. Come with me and I'll go with you."

"But you won't go in for me?" Anders asked, holding out hope.

"If it was _corrupter_ agent, sure," Tobias said. "I wouldn't know concentrator agent if you gave me a bowl of it for lunch, though. Come on."

"They won't cheat you," Anders said. "You can just ask for it."

"With the way you two go on about the evils of the Circle I don't know if I really believe that. For all I know they'll give me a gallon of mageacide."

"There's no such thing," Anders said.

"My point stands," Tobias countered. "Come on, arrows first."

Anders shifted from foot to foot while Tobias examined arrows. He'd grab one from a bin, hold it up,, look down it, check the feathers, and put it back. Finally he decided on one. "These," the elf told the shopkeeper once he had decided.

"How many, ser?" The man had given him a fairly contemptuous glance when they arrived, speaking over Tobias' head to Anders, until Tobias feigned boredom and removed one of his daggers, making a point of displaying the griffin pommel while he examined the blade. The merchant was a model of courtesy from that point on.

"All of them," Tobias said. And have another two gross delivered to Vigil's Keep…" he trailed off, looking at Anders. "What's the new quartermaster's name?"

"Connall," Anders offered, sighing. "He's one of Maggie's cousins."

"Send them to Quartermaster Connall." Tobias handed over a few coins, the man insisted the rest would arrive soon and packed up the arrows he had in stock.

"That's nice," Tobias said, as they left. "Her having family close by. Decent guy?"

"He's insane. Her entire family is." Tobias raised an eyebrow. "They were brawling in the street when we met them, and then one of her cousins hit on me. They're a pack of savages; I don't understand how she can stand any of them."

"So _that's_ where the boss gets it from…"

Anders glared at him.

"I mean… how strange that Maggie turned out so normal in comparison."

Anders grumbled, freezing at the heavy door of the Circle-run store. He reached for the knob and pulled his hand back once, and then twice. Tobias shook his head and shoved the door open, pushing Anders inside.

A woman standing behind the counter looked up at their entrance. "Welcome to Wonders of the North," she said in a monotone voice. "We carry items enchanted by the Circle of Magi and a variety of magical and herbalist supplies. Is there anything you would like to see?"

Not meeting her green eyes, Anders mumbled out his order with his eyes on the counter. The woman turned, gliding smoothly across the floor. "What's _wrong_ with her?" Tobias hissed.

"She's tranquil," Anders said. "She was a mage once, when we were younger. They took away her magical ability."

"I think they took a bit more than that," the rogue said, horrified.

Anders shook his head. "That's how it always works. No emotions after. You're just… like _that_."

The woman set a crate on the counter and packed two large glass bottles, and several small rattling boxes, into it. "Here you are, Anders," she said. Tobias jumped when the woman knew his fellow Warden's name, but Anders seemed unsurprised. His shoulders dropped perceptibly, though. "It is nice to see you. You are well?"

"Thank you, Alyson," he said, still not meeting her gaze. "I'm… um… well. Yes." Looking more closely at the woman Tobias was not entirely surprised to see she had several physical traits in common with the Warden Commander beyond a similar eye color. The senior mage, evidently, had a type.

"You are a Grey Warden now?" she said, looking at him. He glanced at her, confused. "The griffin on your robes is the Warden heraldry," she said. "And this is the closest city to their home. I apologize if my assumption was incorrect."

"What? No…" he said, hands shaking. "I mean yes, I'm a Grey Warden."

"That is an impressive achievement," she monotoned. "You must be proud."

"Yes, thanks," Anders said, shifting from foot to foot.

"Enjoy the rest of your day, Anders," she said, returning to work.

"You too, Alyson," he said, grabbing the box and walking quickly towards the door.

Once outside Anders set the crate down and slid down the wall, sitting next to it. "You know her?" Tobias said, kneeling next to him.

"I did," Anders said. "We were…" he sighed, the expression on his face confirming Tobias' suspicions. "But that was years ago. Before…"

"Well, she said it was nice to see you, that's something," he said. "Most of my exes just throw things when they see me. Or swear a lot."

Anders shook his head. "It wasn't nice to see me. It wasn't _anything_. They just remember enough of what it was like to be normal to know that's the sort of thing people say when they see someone they know. I think the Circle tells them to say hello and make small talk." He chewed on his nail for a moment. "I escaped once," Anders said quietly. "I was going to find somewhere safe, maybe try and get enough money together or barter a way onto a ship to the Imperium. I knew someone who said they could get her a message inside the Circle so she could join me."

"You were going to run away with her?"

"Yeah," Anders said quietly.

"You got caught?"

"Before she even got my message. But… it didn't matter." Tobias looked at him, confused. "The day after I left they did… _that_ to her."

"But… _why?"_

"Some people volunteer," Anders said. "The test to become a mage is tough, and it kills a lot of people. If they're afraid of that they'll ask to be made tranquil. But some people are forced into it, either because they're not a very good mage or because they're seen as dangerous. Jowan would have been in the second group, if Maggie hadn't helped him escape."

"And she…?"

"Caught practicing blood magic," Anders said. "I was… disgusted. I told her if that's what she was doing she got what she deserved." Tobias made a sound of horror. "Believe me: the irony isn't lost on me now. I don't even know _why_ I said it. I was shocked. I was scared. I was always afraid it would have been me. So I spoke without thinking. I… I tried to apologize later, but it didn't even matter. Without emotions she wasn't upset to begin with. She just… doesn't care."

They sat quietly on the empty Amaranthine street. Tobias put his hand on Anders shoulder, not sure how else to comfort someone over something like that monstrosity working behind the counter. "Does Maggie know?" he asked after a moment. "That you know the woman here?"

Anders raised an eyebrow. "Hey, there's a thought. 'By the way, my violently jealous wife, did you know my former lover works at the Circle store in Amaranthine? I'd really prefer not to go there anymore. Every time I'm reminded of how the Chantry ripped everything that made her a person away from her and look into those dead eyes it feels like a knife in my chest.'"

"Andraste's tits, if that's the best way you can phrase things I really wonder how you've made it this far without some woman killing you."

"You get my point, Tobias," Anders said. "So no, she doesn't know. If she knew it bothered me this much it might hurt her. She'd wonder if I would rather have been with Aylson instead of her…"

"I don't really think she would," he said. "That's quite the leap of reasoning. Unless…" his eyes widened.

"I don't know," Anders said. "It doesn't matter. Alyson's been dead for almost fifteen years. I'm just reminded of what might have been every time I see what the Chantry did to her corpse." He sighed. "I love Maggie, don't get me wrong. I adore her. But… if things had worked Alyson and I would be in the Imperium now, I wouldn't have even _met_ Maggie."

Tobias shrugged. "Find any adult who doesn't have the 'if things had been different' person somewhere in their past," he said. "You think Maggie doesn't? If what's his name never went back to Antiva she and him would probably still be—"

"Not helping here, Tobias," Anders snapped. The elf held his hands up in apology. Anders climbed to his feet. "It doesn't matter," he repeated finally. "I just wish I could actually _talk_ to her one more time. Tell her I'm sorry. But I can't, since she's gone. There's just that… _thing…_ wearing her face."

Tobias climbed to his feet, shouldering the bag of arrows. "Well… if that's the case, it wasn't _her_ you said that to, was it? It was… what they turned her into."

The mage smiled slightly. "You're right," he said. "That… that actually helps. Thank you."

"Happy to help," he said. "I had a cousin that got taken to the Circle. I really hope they didn't do that to Alim…"

"Dark hair, dark eyes?"

"You knew him?"

Anders smiled. "I think he hit on me once, actually."

Tobias snorted. "Barking up the wrong tree there," he said. "Well, unless Alim somehow managed to pick up a set of green eyes and a big—" Anders turned to look at the elf, clearing his throat. Tobias dropped his hands from where they had been gesturing in front of him. "Um, personality?" he finished.

"Smooth," Anders laughed. "Very smooth."

That evening Maggie found Anders reading in the main hall. "Walk with me?" she asked.

He hopped to his feet, automatically looping an arm around her waist. "What's going on?"

"I was just talking with Tobias," she said as they passed through an empty hall. "Why didn't you tell me?" Anders groaned, contemplating how many ways he could kill the rogue.

"Well… I…" he stuttered, not sure how to explain.

"Anders, I never would have made you go in there if I knew the worker had been your friend," she said. "You know what I did to save Jowan from that… If I'd failed," she shook her head. "Just the thought of having to face him after those bastards did _that_…." She spun, putting her arms around him. "I promise you'll never have to go in there again. I'm sorry, I wish I hadn't made you go today."

He buried his face against her throat, pulling her closer. "Thank you," was all he could say.

* * *

_The Alim mentioned is a sort of AU reference to the protagonist of Miri1984's new fic Blood Wound (which is fantastic and absolutely worth checking out, BTW. It's on my fave list.)_  
_Thanks for reading and reviewing!_


	23. What to do with a drunken sailor

_Prompt written for the BSN Anders thread. The theme was one of Anders' in-game comments: "What do you do with a drunken sailor?"_

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**What To Do With A Drunken Sailor**

Anders settled back into his chair at their table, sliding an overfull glass of ale to Oghren. "Sure you don't want another, Nate?" he asked.

"Yes I'm sure, and stop calling me that," came the clipped reply.

"Aw, leave broody alone," Oghren said. "He's having too much fun glaring at the tabletop."

"I still don't understand why you two dragged me here," Nathaniel snapped.

Anders rolled his eyes. "To be _friendly_," he said. "It's clearly _wasted_ on you, though."

Nathaniel sighed, forcing himself to take another sip of what was still his first pint. "Look," he said, hoping his tone was somewhere around 'diplomatic' instead of the 'annoyed' which was closer to his true feelings. "Just because all the girls went out for the evening doesn't mean we all have to. I appreciate the invitation, but really… do I strike you as the sort of person who enjoys sitting in taverns?"

"There are people who don't enjoy sitting in taverns?" Anders said, puzzled.

"News to me," Oghren replied.

The mage shook his head, pointing at the archer. Nathaniel suppressed his wince seeing how drunk Anders was. "Look," he said, jabbing his finger at the air between them. "You never do anything. You sit in your office all day being all… stoic… and then when we all do things you make that _face_ after."

"What face?"

"The 'why didn't they invite me' face," Anders said. "You know it's true, stop looking at me like that. And we do invite you. But it would intrude on your quiet brooding time so you say no. Which doesn't stop you from looking all… put out after the fact."

"And _that's_ why you _forced_ me on threat of being frozen alive to come drinking with you?"

"Yes!" Anders said, smiling now that Nathaniel seemed to be on board with the plan. "So now you can't regret not joining us after the fact!"

"Really,"Nathaniel said.

"Really!" Anders replied before drawing back under the archer's withering gaze.

"_Really_?"

"Well, that and…" Anders said, trailing off. Nathaniel folded his arms, not letting the mage break eye contact. "Sigrun made us."

"_What?"_

"Yeah…" Oghren said. "She really wanted to go out with the boss, see," he said. "But didn't want to get back drunk and have to deal with you. Or specifically, you…" he looked at Anders. "What did she say?"

"She said if she had to deal with you telling her she smelled like ale and rolling over in bed in a huff she'd do something very, um, unpleasant with your bow."

"Something very unpleasant?" Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. The phrasing didn't sound like Sigrun.

"She was more specific than that," Anders said. "Trust me… there are places a bow should not be shoved. _Ever._ Unfortunately for you, the location I would consider the very top of that list is exactly where she intends to put it. And if she succeeds, well… be glad you have a healer living across the hall."

All right, _that_ sounded like something Sigrun might threaten.

Oghren laughed. "So… while she's out with Maggie and the rest doing stone knows what… we're supposed to be getting you drunk."

"I… see…" Nathaniel said, suddenly finding the ale far more appealing.

"Really now," Anders said, leaning back. "We've been friends for what… seven years? _Eight_? All that time you've never had a pint with us."

"I don't _like_ taverns," Nathaniel said. "They smell like my brother on a bad day. The days that invariably ended with him vomiting on himself. Sometimes on _me, _too."

"You drink more you won't notice the smell," Oghren said. "Bottoms up, broody."

An hour later Anders found himself casting a spell just to sober Nathaniel enough that he wouldn't fall from his chair. _Again_.

"I guess this is why he doesn't drink," Oghren said.

"It's fine," Nathaniel slurred. "I… I'm fine."

They probably shouldn't have challenged him to drink a pint glass of whiskey. Things really took a turn for the worse at that point. Anders cast another spell to be safe, relieved to see the slack expression gradually fade from Nathaniel's face as he slipped slightly closer to sobriety. Meeting Oghren's eyes the two snickered, discovering the _real_ reason Nate refused to drink with them.

Before a proper comment could be formulated the trio found themselves interrupted by a man swaying on his feet. "Hey… hey," he muttered, narrowing his eyes. "Hey."

"Yes?" Anders said.

"Hey," the man repeated. "You… you're some of them… what you call it… With the griffins. You know what I mean!" He gestured wildly, miming what might have been a stabbing motion and what might have been a particularly unusual Nevarran dance. "The darkspawn," he said finally.

"He means Grey Wardens," Nathaniel said, nodding with certainty. Taking Nathaniel's statement as confirmation, the man muttered something under his breath and stumbled away with an impressed look on his face, leaving the Wardens alone once more.

"I'd gathered as much," Anders said. "But thank you for the _drunk_ to _sane_ translation, oh second in command. I can see why you got promoted."

"Yer jealous," Nathaniel said, pointing at Anders.

"Right," Anders said. "Of course I am. I burn in envy thinking of all the intimate moments of paperwork you've shared with my wife."

Before Nathaniel could respond the drunk returned, this time taking it upon himself to join them at their table. "Is there something we can do for you?" Anders asked.

"Hey," the man said again.

"What?" Ogrhen said, not hiding his annoyance.

"Hey," he repeated, patting the dwarf on the head. Anders and Nathaniel both doubled over laughing as Oghren turned roughly the same shade as his beard. "So. Grey Wardens?"

"Yes," Anders said, wondering where this was going and gesturing at the warrior to sit down and put his axe away.

"Whass it like?" the man stared at him, wide eyed. He leaned far closer than Anders would normally like, particularly given the smell of seaweed and fish that clung to him.

"It's… _exactly_ how you imagine it," Anders said, to Oghren's amusement. Even Nathaniel snickered.

"Wow…" the drunk replied, leaning back and looking thoughtful. Well, thoughtful and lost. "Really?"

"Oh yes. Absolutely," Anders said, giving him a knowing nod.

"Well right," the man said, attempting to sit up straight. "Decides it. Sign me up."

"What?" Oghren said, not hiding his amusement.

"I wanna be one," he said. "Grey Warden. Me. Sign me up."

"I… I don't think that's a good idea," Nathaniel said, blinking as though he could force the alcohol from his system with the motion. Anders cast another spell and he nodded, sitting up straighter. "What do you do now?" he asked.

"'m a sailor," the man said. "Was. Ship's gone. Sunk. Grey Warden, thas a good job. Figure I give that a shot."

"Can you use a sword?" Oghren asked.

"Uh…" he paused before adding "I can learn!" and nodding vigorously. He caught a glimpse of Nathaniel's expression and made a face, leaning forward. "What!" he demanded. "'m not good enough for you? Is that it?" He stood, pushing his sleeves up.

Nathaniel opened his mouth but Anders spoke before he could, shoving the sailor back into his chair at the same time. "It's a _fantastic_ job," he assured him. "Bloody marvelous, really. I think you've made a wise decision."

The sailor beamed, any ideas of challenging them to a fight disappearing. "Yeah?"

"Definitely," Anders said.

"Anders, you _can't_ think he'd make a goo—" Nathaniel began.

"Now now, Nate," Anders replied, "don't spoil the moment for him. I say we have a few drinks to celebrate." Without a word Oghren got up, returning with a fourth pint glass and a pitcher of ale. "You know what this reminds me of?" Anders said, sipping his drink. "Remember that time in the Deep Roads?"

"Which time?" Oghren said.

"_You know_, the one where the ogre picked you up and dangled you over the lava," Anders said. "And your beard caught fire. We did have a good laugh after that, didn't we?"

Oghren chuckled. "That we did," he agreed. "Course, doesn't compare to when that broodmother swallowed you whole. Woo… I thought the boss would bust a rib from how she was cracking up."

Anders laughed at that. "How could I forget? It took me an hour to gnaw my way free." He turned to their new recruit and inclined his head. "You got strong teeth, right? Never know when you might have to chew your way out of a broodmother. I suppose nails would work, too, but the missus gives me a hard time if I don't keep them short." He rolled his eyes. "Women, you know?"

"Teeth?" the man said, sounding horrified.

"Teeth," Anders confirmed. "I mean, it'll take a couple weeks to get the taste from your mouth, but better than just letting yourself become broodmother food!"

Before the sailor could reply Oghren busted in. "Hey… remember that time down in the Hinterlands?"

"Which one!" Anders said with a laugh. "Wait, no… I know which one _you_ mean."

"Never seen a man take so many arrows and keep on his feet," the dwarf said, impressed. "And the way you lit a fireball so the light would shine through the holes? Ha! No one in Orzammar can manage a trick like that!"

"Me?" Anders said. "You were the one trying to toss pebbles through them. Making whistling noises. And dancing around with that axe in your head all the while! I could barely keep my hands steady to heal them, you had me laughing so hard." Anders paused, putting a hand to his chin thoughtfully. "You know, I think I may have healed one of the pebbles up inside me. That would explain that odd pain I've been getting since then." At that he and Oghren both roared with laughter.

Once recovered Oghren took a deep swallow of his ale. "You know what always gets me laughing? That time the boss got skewered through the middle? When you started carrying her around by the sword and spinning her!"

Anders grinned. "She's still annoyed about that. Mostly because I complained about how heavy she was, though…"

"Oh, the look on her face when you said that…"

Anders laughed. "Right!" He looked at the new recruit. "You married?"

"N— no," he stuttered, paling.

"Well, you ever get married… here's a tip. Never comment on her weight. _Especially_ not if you marry a mage. She set me on fire right there."

Oghren pounded his fist on the table. "You were running in circles, screaming about your hair!"

"I was worried about my hair!" Anders said. "I still don't think it grew back quite right." He took a sip and smiled. "Still, what can you do?"

"To the boss!" Oghren said, raising his glass.

Nathaniel, who had been watching the proceedings in silence joined in the toast. He had finally figured out what Anders and Oghren were doing once they got to the second or third ridiculous story, and had been working on an appropriately outlandish addition ever since. "You know," he said with a smile, "I don't think I'll ever forget what she did in Waking Seas. I _never_ thought I'd see a woman _punch_ a high dragon to death."

"Me neither!" Oghren said, grinning. "Of course, I still haven't since the dragon was standing on me at the time!"

"What impressed _me_ was how she tried to lift it off you," Anders said.

"She… lifted a high dragon?" the sailor asked, astonished.

"Don't be absurd," Anders said. "No one can pick up a high dragon. You know how big those things are?" He shook his head, snickering at the ridiculousness of the idea. "No, no… she ripped a hole straight through its chest, one side to the other, and pulled him free. Messy, but it worked."

"She's a heck of a gal," Oghren said. "That time we got trapped by a blizzard for a month and had only genlock to eat?" Oghren smiled. "She made it taste _just_ like nug. Had no idea it could be done."

The volunteer looked at them in horror. "Genlock?"

"Well, it's not _good,_ but better than nothing," Anders said. "We're immune, after all. And after a month or two in the Deep Roads you won't be so picky."

The sailor paled. "I…. I don't wanna be a Grey Warden," he said. "Nooooo. Changed my mind."

"Aw," Anders said, disappointment written on his face. "You're sure? It's great fun."

"'m sure," he said, already getting up. Once on his feet he added "g'night," before bolting from the room, falling several times along the way.

Laughing, the mage and warrior clinked their glasses together. "Works every time," Anders said.

"This happens often?" Nathaniel asked, still smiling.

"Every time we come here," Oghren said.

"We used to tell them no flat out, but after having to lay a few out when they got offended this seemed better. We scare them off, no one gets hurt and we get a nice laugh out of it."

"Nice touch with the dragon, by the way."

"Thanks," Nathaniel said. "You know, maybe I will join you more often."

Later that evening, as they crawled into bed, Maggie started giggling. "Strangest thing happened," she said.

"Oh yeah?"

"Some drunken sailor grabbed me in the street," she told him, still chuckling. "Said something about me punching a dragon to death and ran away."

Anders grinned. "Where _do_ people get such crazy stories?"

* * *

_Thanks for reading and reviewing!_


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